


Just Let Me Go

by JaggedCliffs



Series: Find Me A Home [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Gen, Misgendering, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 04:52:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 62,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaggedCliffs/pseuds/JaggedCliffs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Odin dies in the Odinsleep while Loki sits on the throne of Asgard. Unfortunately, Loki's glamour is lost the moment Odin dies, and no else but Frigga knows the truth of Loki's parentage. Nor would anyone believe Odin deliberately brought a Jotun into Asgard. Perhaps Loki could have saved himself, if he had not started laughing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odin dies in the Odinsleep while Loki sits on the throne of Asgard. Unfortunately, Loki's glamour is lost the moment Odin dies, and no else but Frigga knows the truth of Loki's parentage. Nor would anyone believe Odin deliberately brought a Jotun into Asgard. Perhaps Loki could have saved himself, if he had not started laughing.

The moment Sif and the Warriors Three enter the throne room, Loki knows exactly what they will ask for, and feels a rising sense of exasperation. Can they not see what Thor's foolishness has led too?

While he has to admit that watching them kneel _is_ rather satisfying, for the most part, Loki is simply annoyed. He has much more important business than arguing about Father's decree.

Maybe Thor will finally _learn_ something on Midgard. Though if the centuries of Loki telling him to _think_ for just _one second_ before rushing headlong into some danger or other have not worked, Loki does not think the mortals will have much luck either.

However, Thor's absence means Loki has a chance. Not at the throne, not really. If Thor ever learns the value of caution and wisdom, Loki will let him have it back. But Loki has a chance for _Father_. So Father can see Loki as a _proper_ son and not ( _a monster_ ) a peace treaty.

Already, plans are beginning to form. Loki has to ensure Thor's continued presence on Midgard, for his plans will not work if his brother ( _not-brother, never-brother_ ) returns prematurely. Which means the four in front of him, still ever-loyal to Thor, cannot seek Thor out. At least, not for a few days.

Until he figures how to deal with Jotunheim.

And Laufey.

He has to take care of Laufey first ( _because he has to prove he is loyal to only one father, he cannot have that MONSTER for a father_ ) and he has to do it visibly. Then Jotunheim. And the only way to take care of Jotunheim will be to destroy it utterly. Now all Loki has to do is figure out how to bring Laufey to Asgard and use the Bifrost without anyone interfering.

And both Laufey and Jotunheim will be gone.

Then it will not matter _what_ he is, because all the monsters will be dead, and Father and Mother and Thor and Asgard will see he can be just like them. How can he be a Jotun, if there are none left? How can they think him one of those beasts, if Loki treats them as Thor always has?

( _How can Thor and Asgard kill him, call for his head, if he can show them he is like the rest of the_ _Æsir_ _?_ )

While Loki could put his time to much better use than reassuring his friends (or perhaps just _Thor's_ friends), he supposes he has to deal with them eventually. He launches into his prepared explanations once they ask, finishing with “...for the good of Asgard,” and waits for their reactions. Surely it is a reasonable enough argument for them to stay put for the next several days.

Though it seems his tone is a bit too smug, for Sif shoots up, probably ready to march right up to him and demand Thor's return. As if Loki could undo Father's enchantments.

( _As if Loki would let Thor back before he could prove himself_ _Ás_ ).

Luckily Fandral and Hogun have the presence of mind to hold her back.

“Yes, of course,” Fandral answers for the four.

“Good. Then you will wait for my word.” Loki hopes they will listen to him. For once.

“If I may...,” Loki hears from the side, and wants to sigh. Or maybe not. Glancing towards Volstagg, he feels a strange prickling climbing over his skin (probably from frustration because they _never listen_ where Thor is concerned). He waits for Volstagg to make whatever plea he thinks can change Loki's mind.

But Volstagg does not continue. Instead, he trails off and stares at Loki, mouth agape and eyes slowly growing wider. He seems stunned. In fact, all four of them look as if they took a particularly bad shock from Mjolnir, rooted in place and staring at him with their eyes bulging out.

Loki frowns. “What is it?”

And with those words, it seems as if a spell holding them in place breaks.

The Warriors Three leap to their feet, hands reaching for absent weapons as Sif starts forward. But she halts abruptly after one step, as if unsure. “Loki,” she says hesitantly, face somewhere between fear, and confusion.

Loki does not have time to puzzle out her expression before he hears movement at his back. He looks over his shoulder in time to see the Einherjar guards a lot closer than he remembers them and one of them swinging his spear. Then there's a sharp pain in the back of his knees as his legs are swept out from under him.

He falls, tumbling down the steps, helmet flying off, coming to rest right in front of a shocked Sif. She and the Three do nothing except stare, even Hogun losing his grim expression in place of something akin to horror.

And as a spike of fear goes through his chest, Loki thinks he knows why.

He tries to raise himself to his elbows, bringing up a hand, just high enough so he can _see_.

His hands are a hideous blue, raised scars marring the smooth flesh, his nails stained black.

 _Oh_.

Oh no, no no no no no this can't be, not now, not ever _no NO NONO_

The Einherjar, the same one that knocked him off the steps, places a boot on his chest and drives him to the floor, angling his spear at Loki's throat. The other Einherjar kicks Gungnir from Loki's limp ( _blue_ ) fingers and stands beside at the ready, spear directed near his companion's.

Loki cannot breath. He does not think it's from the boot on his chest.

Everything seems unreal Perhaps he is dreaming. He is passed out in the vault, instead of Father, and this is not real, it can't be real, _it can't be real._

“Loki?” he hears Fandral say, still staring down at him from off to the right. As if he doesn't know how Loki has turned into the blue creature before him. “Is that – are you–”

“Is – is this a joke?” Volstagg stutters. He seems torn between helping Loki up and joining the Einherjar. Hogun is staring at him, as if calculating possibilities, none of them good.

Sif steps forward, fists clenched and face white. “If this is a trick Loki, I swear, I will hang you upside-down from the Bifrost until you pass out, king or not.” Her voice is hard, disgusted and frightened all at once.

The Einherjar with the spear at his throat demands, “If this is the result of magic, then reverse it. Immediately.”

Loki's mind feels like a of maelstrom panic and possibilities. He stares up at the four, trying to think of an answer, a good answer, one where his friends don't stare at him like he's something out of a nightmare ( _a monster_ ), something they would sooner strike down with their blades and axes and maces than call a _friend_.

He can say it is a curse, but any learned sorcerer could tell a spell had been removed, not applied.

He can say it is a trick.

But he does not know what has happened to his skin. He does not know how to get his skin back (though this _is_ his skin, his real flesh underneath the comforting illusion bequeathed by Father), he doesn't know how to change back, _he doesn't know_.

But an illusion, he can create an illusion of his skin, though they will not believe him, and they will find another sorcerer to verify his claims.

So he will have to run. Run away and hide until he, or Father, or Mother, can make up a story–

“The King is dead!”

Loki's mind goes still. As one, he and the other six look towards the source of the shout, which is accompanied by a pair of hurried footsteps. In the space between Hogun and Fandral, Loki can see a young guard coming over the rise of the steps.

“The King,” the guard repeats, breathless and shaken. “Odin Allfather, is dead! The King –” the guard's sentence cuts off in a gasp and he stops, gawking at the scene before him. The Einherjar and the four most noble warriors of Asgard, gathered around a Jotun in Ás clothing.

Loki does not spare much thought for the man's surprise.

Father is dead.

Father, whom he loves and wanted to be loved by, whom he only wanted to _please._ Who used to pay attention when Loki was young and when he would show Father his newest bit of sorcery, Father would smile and congratulate him. Or who used to give a pleased nod when Loki hit all his targets with his throwing knives.

His Father, his not-Father, never-Father is dead, and has taken the protection of his Jotun foundling with him to Valhalla.

Loki probably could have found a way out of the situation.

If he had not started laughing.

Loki wants to sob, to scream and cry and rage. But the laughter will not stop. It bubbles up between his lips, high-pitched and helpless, filling the throne room with its shrieks.

It sounds hysterical.

It sounds mad.

Although perhaps it is only mad to his own ears. The Einherjar evidently think it sounds triumphant, for one of them flips the staff around, raises it, and brings it down on Loki's head.

There is a painful flash of white, then the throne room of Asgard and seven horrified faces fade to a soothing black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there will be more explanations in the next chapters.


	2. Day One: Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frigga witnesses her husband's death. When Loki does not appear to join her in mourning, she knows something is amiss.

Frigga watched her husband draw his last breath. His chest barely expanded before he let the breath out with a sound much like a sigh. And in between one of Frigga's heartbeats and the next, she felt Odin's spirit depart his weary body, on a path to Valhalla after his warrior's life in battle and his death in restoring Asgard's strength during the Odinsleep.

Slowly, tears trickled down her face. She bowed her head as she grasped one of Odin's hands. Already he was growing cold.

She allowed herself a moment alone in private grief, the first of Asgard to know of the King's death, and the one who had been ever by his side for the past thousands of years. The one in all the realms who knew their King most intimately, perhaps better than he knew himself.

Then she wiped her tears and composed herself before opening the doors to inform the Einherjar of Odin's death and to ask Loki to be sent for, so he could join in mourning. Once several runners were dispatched, she sent an order for the council to be convened tomorrow to arrange the preservation of Odin's body. Though Thor may have been banished to Midgard, he deserved to be present for his father's funeral. Frigga would do all she could to delay the ceremony until her eldest returned.

The guards nodded. While they gathered up servants to obey her commands, Frigga closed the heavy doors and returned to her husband's side. She could not fall to pieces. She had to plan for the future.

The kingdom would understand the reason for the wait between Odin's death and sending off the body. Although if Thor did not fill his father's conditions soon, howsoever she may have disagreed with Odin's punishment, Frigga and Loki would be forced to mourn without him.

And Loki, already forced to face his adoption, the kingship, and now Odin's death in such a short time, must remain regent for a while longer. She only hoped Loki could manage under the strain, though Frigga would aid him if he faltered.

When Thor returned, they would have to hold another coronation, and perhaps announce Loki as his adviser. Both Frigga and Odin had known Loki would fill that position anyway, but it would be best to make his post official.

And then her boys would be on their own, or close to. The very situation she and Odin had been worried about, that had driven the early coronation in the first place. Thor was meant to have Odin there _with_ him, to _guide_ him as he adjusted to the throne, the responsibility, and the wisdom one needed to rule. Now the burden fell to Frigga, to help her children rule the nine kingdoms.

Without her husband by her side.

Frigga stifled a sob, bringing her hand to her mouth from where it had absently been squeezing Odin's. She had known Odin's body was failing, but to have him slip away while in the Odinsleep, when he had seemed full of life less than a day ago, all seemed much too sudden.

As she felt her tears dry, Frigga was glad she was alone for the moment. She would have to be strong when Loki appeared.

Which begged the question, where was Loki? Surely the guard must have reached him by now. Even if Loki were in a meeting, any diplomat or noble would understand the death of the Allfather – _Loki's_ father – would take precedence.

Crossing her husband's hands over his chest, she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead and stood. Once again she opened the heavy doors of the resting chamber to check on the Einherjar. They stood at attention on either side of the door.

Frigga turned to the senior Einherjar. “Where is my son?” she asked. “Has he been informed of the Allfather's death?”

“I know not, my Queen,” the man answered promptly. “Shall I send someone else after his whereabouts?”

Frigga considered the question for a moment. If Loki was held up, he would come when he was ready.

And yet, Frigga did not know what exactly had passed between Loki and Odin in the vault. If Loki felt unworthy to mourn by Odin's bedside because of his heritage – or did not _want_ to...Well, Frigga could at least assure Loki she wanted him by her side.

“Yes, as soon as possible,” she commanded. Turning her back on him, she returned to the chambers. She had to weave a spell that would preserve Odin's body until more thorough preparations could be made.

An hour later she marched out the doors and demanded to be brought to Loki, if he would not come to her.

The Einherjar escorted her to the throne room, where Lord Tyr, Lord Hœnir, and the Grand Vizier were deep in discussion with the Lady Sif and the Warriors Three. The Hliðskjálf was empty and Loki was nowhere to be seen. It was only when she caught sight of Gungnir, laid reverently across the Hliðskjálf, that Frigga began to worry.

She picked up her pace, her nervousness matching that of the nobles once they caught sight of her. Whatever conversation they were having ceased before Frigga came into hearing range.

They bowed low, hands over their hearts. “My Queen–” the Grand Vizier began.

“Where is my son?” Frigga interrupted, giving each of them a hard stare. Volstagg was the one to break first.

“My Queen, he–” Volstagg swallowed, looking shaken. “Loki, he–”

“He has been kidnapped,” Tyr said, face grim. “By the Jotnar.”

Frigga felt her mouth fall open as her world seemed to tilt to one side. “ _What_?” she gasped. “But how could they just _take_ him?” _With all of Asgard to defend him_ , she wanted to add. How could they enter the throne room without any noticing? How could the Jotnar react so quickly to a war that had only begun hours ago? And _why was she not told_?

The Grand Vizier looked haggard as he stepped forward, palms out as if trying to placate her. “Because they did not just kidnap him, my Queen. They replaced him with a Jotun runt. One adept at sorcery.”

Everything clicked into place, and for a moment the air in the room froze.

No.

Not her child, it could not be, _Asgard_ could not have hurt him.

_What if they had killed him_?

The words seemed nearly unthinkable, and yet they stayed fixed in her mind, conjuring images of Loki, dead at the foot of the Hliðskjálf, blood pooling around his head and eyes staring blankly upward (eyes that were both bright green, and a dark red she had never seen).

“Tell me everything. _Now_ ,” she forced out, urging her voice to remain steady.

There was a shared hesitation, then Fandral stepped forward. In halting words, he told her of the incident, Loki's Jotun skin appearing as the warriors watched, and his laughter once Odin's death had been announced. Frigga listened as if in a daze.

When Fandral finished, Hœnir added, “Once he was subdued, the Einherjar took him to the prison cells to get some answers.” His tone seemed to be angling for reassurance.

Frigga was torn between relief and the urge to be sick. Loki was not dead, thank Yggdrasil, but if Asgard wanted answers from a Jotun, she knew exactly how they would go about it.

“You know my son is fond of tricks, and the most accomplished sorcerer in the realm,” she said, voice calm despite the fear and rage rising inside her. “Surely you checked if my son played a foolish prank before you threw him in the dungeons?” It was far-reaching, but if there was any easy way to recover from this, she would gladly take it.

Hœnir only shook his head. “This would be too dangerous a prank to pull even for...one such as Loki,” he said with a note of displeasure that had Frigga bristling, but she held back any retort. Now was not the time for digressions. “And we already had sorcerers check over the Jotun. There was no evidence of a spell altering his appearance; in fact, there was evidence of a long-term spell being removed.”

The Grand Vizier nodded. “We fear your son was taken a long time ago. And worse, my Queen,” his face grew even more somber, “we believe he may have had a hand in the Allfather's death. The Jotun was alone with him just before he fell into the Odinsleep.”

Hidden in the voluminous material of her dress, Frigga's hands were clenched and shaking. It was all she could do to keep the rest of her body from trembling, from rushing to the dungeons and wrapping her son in her arms. “Take me to the prisoner,” she demanded.

Hœnir and the Grand Vizier shared a concerned glance. “But, my Queen–” the Grand Vizier said.

“ _I said take me to see him_!” Frigga yelled, composure snapping.

Everyone took a step back, looking slightly uneasy. Frigga arranged her features into something slightly less enraged. “I need to see him. _Now_.”

At last the Grand Vizier nodded. “Of course, my Queen. Lord Tyr and I shall accompany you.”

Frigga did not much care who came with her, for she barely paid attention as they took her into the depths of the palace. Instead, her mind spun. How could Loki have lost his Ás glamour? She could tell it had to do with her husband's death, but surely Odin would not have made the glamour impermanent. He could not have been so short-sighted.

Unless something had interfered with the spell. And Frigga knew Loki had touched the Casket of Ancient Winters when he found out. Was the Jotun artifact enough to release Odin's spell? Frigga could only guess, but as long as she could reverse any harm done, she could salvage the situation. She just had to _explain_.

She expected them to take the corridor into the prisons, but they walked right past it. They stopped at the door to another set of cells. The ones used for more gruesome tasks. Frigga felt fear spike through her chest as Tyr unlocked the doors and strode in.

It was darker, unlike the regular prison. The cells were much farther apart, to make room for the equipment, various tools, and contraptions which gleamed almost innocuously between cells and hung on the walls. Although _cell_ was doing the spaces justice. They bore more similarity to cages. They were not quite large enough to contain a full grown man in length nor width, and had bars instead of the normal energy fields as a deterrent.

Most of the cells were empty. Except one.

Frigga caught sight of the movement at the end of the prison and rushed forward, ignoring Tyr's shout. There were two men in front of a cell, each holding something long and sharp, and within the cell was a huddled shape. At the sound of her footsteps it moved, and Frigga saw a gleam of blood red eyes.

She stopped short, the deep red and the expanse of blue skin shocking her. While she knew it was always there, hidden by Odin's spell, she had never seen Loki in his Jotun form. Then the figure unfolded, and Frigga could see the shape of her youngest son's face beneath the strange colour and raised markings, the panic and hurt in those eyes that were familiar but for the crimson.

“Loki,” she breathed, and covered the rest of the space in mere seconds before dropping to her knees in front of the bars, paying little mind to the startled noises behind her. She reached into the cell towards Loki's head. Loki hesitated for a moment, uncertainty and fear clouding his features, then inched close enough to let her cradle his head.

His skin was cold and rough, but the contours of his face were the same. As he moved, Frigga heard the clink of chains shifting. She glanced around the cell, and felt her stomach turn.

Loki had been stripped to his smallclothes, and around his neck was a thick collar, runes around the rim preventing him from using any magic, as well as his Jotun abilities to form ice and freeze Ás skin. Heavy chains bound him hand and foot, linking him to bolts at the back end of the cage. They were just long enough to let him move around the space.

“Oh, my son,” Frigga breathed, tears welling in her eyes, and drew him as close as the bars allowed.

Loki made a sound much like a sob, and sunk into the embrace. “Mother,” he choked out, “Mother, I-”

“Shhh, my child, do not worry.” Frigga ran one hand though his hair, smoothing it down from its disarray. “I will make this right.”

A hand gently landed on her shoulder. “My Queen, I agree it is a good imitation.” The Grand Vizier sounded concerned. “The Jotnar were well prepared. But this is not your son.”

Frigga did not move, staring at Loki while her son looked anxiously up at the men behind her. “Yes, he _is_ ,” she said softly, then stood and turned, facing the four men. “This _is_ my son, because Loki is a Jotun.” She said it firmly, though she could almost see Loki's pained expression from hearing the words so bluntly. Yet there was little else she could say if she wished Loki to be free.

The nobles and guards gaped at her, before the guards remembered their duty and stood at attention. Tyr looked between her and Loki while the Grand Vizier seemed frozen. Frigga drew herself up, high and imperious as her station. “Release him. I will take care of the explanations.” Her tone brooked no argument.

They stared for another second, then Tyr leaned down and murmured something in the Grand Vizier's ear. He nodded and cleared his throat. “Of course, my Queen. Lord Tyr will oversee his release.” Tyr nodded, and the Grand Vizier came to her side. “However, I think it best if you speak of this to the council sooner rather than later. They are already preparing expeditions to Jotunheim. If you tell me on the way there, I can aid you in your explanations.” He gestured to door.

Frigga wanted nothing more than to stay and wait for Loki to be unchained. However, if warriors were already prepared to be sent into Jotunheim, lingering could spell their demise. She could not allow her warriors to be sent to their deaths on a false errand.

She nodded, then turned and knelt down in front of Loki again. He was crouched just behind the bars, only his widened eyes hinting at his fear. “I will see you soon,” she promised. She took his head between her hands and leaned close enough to the bars to lay a kiss on his brow, the ridges on his forehead strange beneath her lips. “We will make this work.” With a last glance at her son, trying to convey all her love and reassurance in one look, she stood and made her way to the door, drawing the Grand Vizier out of another muttered discussion with Tyr.

The council, composed of several nobles, including the Grand Vizier, Tyr, and Hœnir, and non-ruling members of the royal family, would meet back in the throne room. There was plenty of time for Frigga to give a basic retelling of Loki's origins. While Frigga's voice hitched slightly when she first said her husband's name, she was otherwise steady. The Grand Vizier never lost his worried look, but nodded along. It was only when she was describing how Loki had had no idea of his origins, and no one except herself and her husband had known the truth, that she noticed the large amount of Einherjar gathering around them. Even then, she thought little of it until the Grand Vizier turned down a wrong corridor, one that led to the royal housing quarters, rather than the throne room.

“Where are you headed? We have no time for detours.” She frowned, and noticed out of the corner of her eye the Einherjar inching closer.

“My Queen, there are a few members of the council that have not been alerted to the proceedings, and remain in their rooms. As with myself, we could inform them to the situation beforehand. With more support, the council might act quicker.” If the man was not too dignified to fidget, he would be doing so now.

“And you could not do this alone?” Frigga arched an eyebrow, her frustration difficult to reign in after everything she had been forced through in the past days.

The Grand Vizier shook his head. “They would best hear from you.”

Lips thinning, Frigga acquiesced without a word. She let the nobleman lead the way, attempting to tamp down on the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She still had her duties to attend to, and she could not let the broken state of her family interfere.

Abruptly, the Grand Vizier stopped in front of someone's quarters. In front of _her_ quarters. Hers and her husb– no, just hers now. The thought, and the pain it brought with it, had no sooner passed through her mind when two Einherjar gently but firmly grabbed her arms.

“I– What is the meaning of this?” Frigga demanded struggling to free herself from the grip. The Einherjar only tightened their hold.

“I apologize, my Queen,” the Grand Vizier said sadly, seeming genuinely regretful, “but I am afraid this is for the best.”

“What do you mean, _for the best_?” Frigga demanded, doing her best not to weave a spell that would send all of them flying down the corridor.

“I believe that the stress of the past days has gotten to you. Your firstborn, then the Allfather, and now your youngest...” the Grand Vizier shook his head sadly. “It may have been too much for you to handle.”

Frigga was stunned. For a moment she stopped struggling, and the Einherjar took the opportunity to propel her towards her quarters. She dug in her heels before they could push her through the doorway. “You think I am _delusional_?” she gasped, appalled. The shear _audacity_ for him, and for Tyr, to think her mind had been shattered–

“You utterly believe that Frost Giant to be your son.” There was a faint look of disgust on the Grand Vizier's face, and with a jolt Frigga knew it was for Loki, the way she had treated him. The disgust was on _behalf_ of her, for what he believed she was too far gone to feel herself. “You even concocted a story to go with it. Loki may be strange, but he is nowhere near monstrous enough for a Jotun. The Allfather would never knowingly bring a Frost Giant into Asgard, much less try to raise it.” With that, the two Einherjar gently pushed Frigga into her rooms, released her, and left, closing the doors before Frigga could reach them.

Furious, she yanked on the handle, yet it did not budge. Next, she tried a spell, but to her shock it slid off like water off oil. “You will be well cared for, my Queen,” the Grand Vizier said, voice muffled. “We have sealed the doors as a precaution. The healers will be by shortly to deal with your illness.”

As she fruitlessly pounded on the door, Frigga nearly missed several pairs of footsteps walking away, leaving her stranded alone in a room that should have been her home. Now it was a prison, full of memories she had of a man she had loved for millennia.

“No,” she gasped to the empty hallway beyond the closed doors. She wanted to scream. Everything was falling apart. Thor banished, Odin dead, and Loki to suffer simply because of his birth. And now her freedom had been taken as well.

Feeling empty, she sagged against the door, and let out the rough sobs gathered in her throat.

Then she retreated to the bed, lay back against its soft covers, and began to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Grand Vizier](http://marvel.wikia.com/Grand_Vizier_\(Asgard\)_\(Earth-616\)) is a guy from the comics, [Hœnir](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H%C5%93nir) is from Norse mythology, and Tyr is [from](http://marvel.wikia.com/Tyr_Odinson_\(Earth-616\)) [both](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tyr), and in this fic they bare little resemblance to their canon counterparts (I just stole their names). About Odin's death: I changed the purpose of the Odinsleep from replenishing the Odinforce to replenishing Asgard simply because I didn't feel like dealing with the Odinforce. For Loki's Ás/Jotun appearance, I describe Odin's spell to change Loki as a glamour, though it is probably more complex than that. But there is no easy phrasing for whatever was done to change Loki's physiology/appearance. Also, while Frigga is more open minded about racism against the Jotnar than the rest of Asgard, she still associates blue skin/red eyes with “bad/evil”. That's why she points out how strange and different his skin is every time she touches it. But she's looking past those association for Loki.


	3. Day One: Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Frigga is not believed, Loki's last hope of leaving the dungeons disappears. Asgard needs answers, and they plan on getting them.

Loki had awoken to a headache and a hard floor against his bare back. For a moment, he'd thought he must be hungover, and vowed to never again go drinking with Thor and his friends.

Then he had remembered his friends staring down at him as if he were something out of their nightmares.

He had opened his eyes and sat up, feeling the drag of chains and the weight of the collar, the suppression of his magic with the carved runes.

A sick feeling had risen in his stomach as he tugged at the collar and chains in panic. They were of the finest craftsmanship of the realm, able to hold the most powerful sorcerers and warriors. All his efforts had led to was a loud metallic jangle as he pulled at the chains around his wrists. He had dropped his hands and looked around, searching for something, _anything_ , that would help him.

( _Help him? Help him_ what _? Help him get out? What then? Where would he_ go _?_ )

( _Jotnar were not meant to be in Asgard._ )

The guards had appeared not long after he woke up, barely giving him a glance, more concerned with the knives in their hands than their captive. It had not taken long for Loki to figure out what the knives were for ( _they were going to torture him, torture him for what? what did they want from him?_ ) and it had become much harder to breathe past the fear tightening his throat.

Loki had known Asgard _had_ torturers, in the same way he knew that mortals died every day on Midgard, or that the Kree and Skrulls were still at war. They existed, but he tended not to think of them. He'd not even known if torturers still were _used_. Had _Father_ ever used them? Had he used them on Jotnar, during the war?

( _Had he used them on Jotnar after the war?_ )

Then the doors had opened, and three sets of footsteps had entered, one pair achingly familiar.

Loki had thought he would weep with relief. Then he'd thought he would weep with shame, for Mother to see him like _this_ , his true skin revealed at last. Loki had noticed her hesitation when she saw his monstrosity bared, a flicker of something that he could not quite name. ( _Fear? Revulsion?_ )

But then she had held him, as she always had, as if the blue did not matter. And Loki had felt the stirrings of hope.

As soon as she left, Lord Tyr grabbed the keys from one of the guards, opened the doors, leaned forward, and backhanded Loki across the face.

Loki could not help the pained grunt as his head rocked back. He realized that during all those times he had been forced to spar with the Weapons Master, though it had not felt like it at the time, Tyr had been holding back. A small mercy that did not extend to Loki now.

Tyr did not wait for him to recover, but grabbed the collar around his neck and shoved him face-first against the wall. “How _dare_ you use the Queen's weakness like that,” Tyr snarled, then wrenched Loki around, angling the collar so it pressed against the front of his neck. Loki choked, his questions of _what weakness_ now lodged in his throat. “After all her loss, you encourage her fantasies to gain your freedom? That she would ever adopt a frost giant for a _child_?” Tyr shook him on the last word, and Loki's hands automatically went to his throat, scrabbling uselessly at the collar.

_Oh_ , he thought distantly, _they do not believe her. They think she is mad_.

_They do not believe her and they will not believe me_.

“What did you expect? It _is_ Jotun,” one of the guards drawled. “How is it supposed to understand a mother's love?”

“I cannot believe she _kissed_ it.” The other guard, younger than his companion, looked faintly ill, staring at Loki beyond Tyr's bulk as if he were a bit of dung on his shoe. The guard switched his gaze to Tyr. “We should not have let her degrade herself so,” he said indignantly.

Tyr dropped his hold and Loki coughed and spluttered, drawing air into his crushed throat. “We had to indulge her, for a little while,” Tyr said, disgruntled, and made his way back out of the cell. “The Grand Vizier will take her to her rooms, and I will instruct the Einherjar and palace mages to take care of her. Now,” he spoke to both the guards, “Asgard needs answers, and we need them immediately. Report to me as soon as you have them.” The two guards bowed, casual demeanour evaporating, and as Tyr left they both turned to Loki.

Loki straightened, trying not to flinch as they came closer. While they may not believe it, he was still a prince of Asgard ( _no he was not, he was only a discarded runt of Jotunheim_ ) and would comport himself as such.

One guard kept a steady hand on his collar while the other unlocked the chains connecting him to the wall, but did not touch the ones linking his hands and feet. Once Loki was freed from the wall, they steered him roughly forward and out of the cell. Loki expected to be taken to another part of the prison altogether, but instead they just turned the corner onto a rectangular metal table and–

Loki's stomach roiled. There were sharp instruments, vials, tools that he had never seen before and knew not their use.

Though he would find out soon. They wanted answers. If they did not believe him to be Loki, then they would want him to say where Loki was.

They would torture him to save himself.

Loki had a sudden urge to laugh, and felt a bubble of his early hysteria trying to rise. He quashed it down, sealing his lips shut. Laughing would only give them the wrong idea again (although it was not as if he could make things _worse_ , at this point).

The guards pushed him onto the table, roughly enough that Loki's skull knocked back against the hard metal of the head of the table. They released the chains binding his hands and legs together, and for a brief moment Loki thought of running. Yet even as the thought crossed his mind, Loki knew how pointless it would be. Even if they did not stop him before he reached the doors, a Jotun loose in Asgard would not last long. Without his magic, he could not hide, nor disguise his skin. He would be captured within minutes.

They clamped his hands and legs onto the table, leaving him eagle-spread, and the foolish thought was gone.

The guards turned to a glowing panel beside the table. One of them pushed something and pain shot through Loki's limbs. He gasped, then shut his mouth with a snap. He would not break in front of them, he would _not_ , but where was _the pain coming from_ –

“It's the clamps,” one of the guards provided, the older one. “They are barbed and tipped with poison. Not enough to kill, of course, but it _is_ painful and its potency increases with time.” Loki thought he heard a smirk in that voice, though the guard's face did not change. “If you wish for less time on this table, and a swift death, then you will answer our questions promptly. Understood?”

Loki tried to keep his face blank as he nodded. He understood.

He also understood that his first answers would not be believed. They had to think him broken before they took any word from his mouth to be the truth, and maybe even beyond that. And he had nothing to tell them.

He could not say he really was Loki. They would see him as latching onto Mother's “fantasy” as a way to free himself.

If he tried to prove it, saying something only he would know, they would claim he had tortured the real Loki for that information.

And what proof had he, really? He had been a lie all along. There was no “Loki Odinson”, Ás prince.

Just him.

Laufey's son.

Jotun.

( _Monster_.)

“Good,” the same guard said. Loki surmised he must be the more senior one. “Now, where is Prince Loki?” he said, and dug the blade of a black knife halfway into Loki's shoulder, running it down Loki's arm until it met his wrist before pulling it out again. Loki tried to not move, but still made a sound through gritted teeth. The knife was sharp, sharp enough to cut through skin like butter, and it _hurt_.

“No answer?” the senior guard asked. _Yes, yes I have one, he's right here_ , Loki wanted to say. Of course, he doubted that would go over well, so he kept silent.

The guard did not seem to mind. He stuck the blade into the same cut at the shoulder, and _twisted_.

This time Loki could not stop his back arching, his feet scrabbling as he tried to find purchase to push himself up.

He had barely felt the agony fade to a throb when he felt a burst of pain in his other arm. The other guard held a similar knife and was slicing downward, slowly, taking his time to reach Loki's wrist. Loki thought he could feel each muscle and tendon coming apart underneath the blade's edge.

“Where is Prince Loki?” the older guard asked again, and made a new cut beside the first, swivelling the knife from side to side every now and then. Loki's jaw ached as he gritted his teeth together in an attempt to hold back his screams. He said nothing, and neither guard seemed concerned.

They simply kept digging the knife in, again and again and again.

They kept asking him, _Where is Prince Loki, Where is Prince Loki, What did you do with him_. They moved from arms to legs to chest, until Loki could no longer tell what they were slicing open, every bit of skin felt as if it had been opened up and bled clean.

_Jotunheim_ , Loki knew he should answer. _Somewhere on Jotunheim_ , but they already believed that, didn't they? They wanted a specific place but he could not remember anything about Jotunheim, just ( _a realm of monsters_ ) bedtime stories ( _stories of misbehaving children and the beasts that gobble them up in one bite_ ). If they would just give him time to _think_ , he could remember, he could make something up (they would not believe him, of course, it had not nearly been long enough to make them believe the Jotun runt had given up).

Then the cutting stopped.

Loki opened his eyes. He had not realized he had closed them. His body felt torn, flayed to pieces, and there were throbbing pains shooting through his arms and into his chest. Apparently the poison was doing its job and spreading.

It took a moment for Loki to locate the guards. He turned his head, and the senior guard swam into view. The man was staring down at Loki dispassionately. “If you will not answer that question, how about another one?”

As if Loki had a choice. He nodded anyway.

“How did you kill the Allfather?”

A choking sound escaped Loki's throat before he could help it, and a sudden clarity broke through the haze in his mind.

Father was dead. They thought Loki had killed him.

And it was _true_.

Loki had killed his father.

Loki's discovery, his incensed ranting, it had been too much for Father to bear. He had slipped into the Odinsleep before Loki's very eyes, and then to Valhalla. And it was Loki's fault.

All Loki had wanted to do was show Father he could be a worthy son, worthy of love – _to make Father proud_ – but all Loki could do was _hurt_ him.

The poison and cuts did not seem so painful compared to the feeling spreading through his chest, as if the guards had taken their black knife and driven it through his heart.

(Perhaps they would, if Loki were lucky.)

There was a smug look on the guard's face, and Loki realized what his reaction must look like to the guard. With an effort, Loki struggled to pull a blank mask over his features, but it was much too late. The older guard smirked. “You thought you were not a suspect, did you? Well, I suggest you start talking soon. Asgard will want to know how the death of their King came about.”

A bright, hot, _burning_ erupted on his wrist. Loki twisted and saw the other guard holding something, something that glowed a bright white-yellow – no, not just glowing, but searing. A knife, heated enough to burn Jotun skin, pressed against the gashes _they_ had made.

“We do not want you to bleed out quite yet,” the senior guard said, while Loki watched the younger one press the knife down again, sealing the bloody skin shut. Loki arched his back, a muffled scream slipping through sealed lips.

Loki had never been fond of heat. But with his magic intact, fire had never bothered him, never harmed him unless he let it. But in this skin ( _his real skin_ ), fire had turned against him, heat became more agonizing and _he just wanted them to stop_.

“What did you do to the Allfather?” the senior guard asked again, and the knife pressed down again, the flat of the burning blade lazily moving back and forth along the curve of Loki's arm.

“How did you kill the Allfather?”

“How did you kill the King?”

“Was it poison?”

“Was it magic?”

“What did you do to the King?”

The questions merged together, an incessant buzz in Loki's head, How did you kill the Allfather How did you poison the Allfather What did you do to the Allfather What did you do to your Father How did you kill your Father How did you kill your Father You killed your father YOU KILLED YOUR FATHER–

They did not stop until all his wounds were sealed.

Loki still had not said a word. Had not opened his mouth to scream.

The guards decided to have fun with his reticence.

“We will undo the stitches in the morning,” one of them promised (Loki could not tell which one, he could not see properly and every sound was muffled) and then the guard took the needle and threaded it through his lips.

They were careful not to tear the skin overly much. They needed him to talk later.

Loki was surprised to learn that Jotnar could cry. Or at least he thought they were tears; it could have been blood for all he knew.

Once the last stitch was tied off, they released him from the clamps with a wet squelching sound as the barbs withdrew from his skin, and put the chains back around his wrists and ankles. They had to drag him into his cell. He dropped limply to the ground while they chained him to the wall.

Loki thought it was a waste of time; he could not move enough to sit up, let alone escape.

With a clang, they shut and locked the door to his cell. Loki listened to their footsteps drawing away, the creaking as the door of the prison opened, and the clanking sound as it slammed shut.

And Loki was alone.

He curled up on his side; he did not want to spend any more time on his back, and the front of his body felt like it was still burning. Loki was afraid to look down at it, at the peeling skin, at whatever colour burnt Jotun flesh might be.

Instead, he tried to plan. It was what he wanted, wasn't it? A few moment alone to get his wits together?

He could still say that “Prince Loki” was somewhere on Jotunheim. But then any warriors he sent to Jotunheim would be slain, or at least injured, searching for a man that did not exist. And they would come back, asking him again, and then Loki would send them off somewhere else to be slaughtered.

Their deaths would be on Loki's hands. He was Prince (KingRegent _Nothing_ ) and he could get half the warriors of Asgard killed with a lie.

No, no he couldn't, he _would not_ help Jotunheim murder any more Æsir. He had to protect them; even though they were hurting him, they were just doing their duty

( _hunting the monsters down_ )

so he had to say something else.

Something where they would kill him.

Because that was the best alternative to this.

If he were dead -

\- no, if “ _Prince Loki_ ” were dead, then they would have no need for him. Then they would kill him.

It would be better for everyone, if both the lie and the truth were gone. Asgard was already at war with Jotunheim. It wasn't like he would be starting another one with his death.

Mother wouldn't like it, but as long as she went along with the lie, they would not think her mad anymore. She could lament her son's death, and no one would suspect _what_ she was truly mourning.

And Thor, he would never have to learn the truth, that he had let a Jotun into his heart, had let it pretend to be his brother. He could mourn the lie, all the while cursing the Jotun imposter who had stolen his brother from him.

(He would not kill Loki when he found out what his brother really was.)

It could even help _Father_. No one need tarnish the Allfather's name by wondering why he had snuck a frost giant into Asgard and dared call it his son.

(Father had already made it clear Loki did not matter, when he took away his protection.)

And no one would know Loki was a monster.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the guards, a different pair, came down later, (Loki guessed it could be morning, though he had no way to tell), they unlocked the cage and once again dragged him onto the table. They locked him in the clamps, poison burning through Loki's limbs as if it had mapped out pathways through his veins yesterday.

As soon as they carefully snipped through the thread, pulling it out of swollen lips, Loki spat out a mouthful of blood and rasped, “Prince Loki is dead. I was only meant to infiltrate Asgard. I was not told anything else about the plan.”

They did not seem to believe him.

That day, he broke his vow not to scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki is wrong about Odin's protection; he just isn't thinking clearly enough and doesn't believe that Odin had loved him enough, unlike Frigga (who knows Odin loved Loki, and who Loki knows loves him). Also, the black knife the torturers use a basically some kind of space-obsidian, except more painful than normal obsidian, because obsidian is  
> [really, really sharp](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Obsidian#Current_use), and was in fact a valuable commodity for several ancient civilizations.


	4. Night Four: Schemes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because Frigga has been confined to her rooms does not mean she will sit idle.

Every moment Frigga had to spend waiting in her rooms, she felt as if she could hear Loki's screams in her ears, see his agonized face etched in her mind. When she closed her eyes, she could see Thor, withered and old, gone in but a few decades. If she wandered farther into her rooms, she would notice remnants of her and Odin's life together, a life that could never be whole again.

If she stayed in her rooms much longer, she would grow as mad as Asgard believed her to be.

So, even though her plans had not been finalized, Frigga slipped out at the first opportunity she could find.

It had been surprisingly more difficult than she had thought. She was not used to being treated as a prisoner in her own kingdom, and so she had not caught the drugs in her food and wine that first day until she was halfway done with her evening meal. After that, she had either cleansed the food with a few spells, or simply pretended to eat before throwing it away.

Though it would have been much easier to get rid of the tainted meals, if she was not constantly surrounded by handmaidens, as well as the healers that came by twice a day.

Not that the handmaidens were disrespectful, of course. They tried to do their best for her. However, since they believed she had lost her mind, their best consisted of making her rest, relax, sit back and read or weave, and lightly gossip about the kingdom. _Decidedly_ apolitical gossip, at that. Every time Frigga attempted to lead the conversation towards the council or Jotunheim, the handmaidens hurriedly changed topics.

The healers were much worse though. They wished her to drink tinctures that would muddle her thoughts, or talk with her, as if hoping she could reveal her “madness” in her words.

It was _infuriating_.

With every passing moment, Frigga wanted nothing more than to smash the doors down with either her magic or the closest weapon, race down to the dungeons, break Loki out and spirit him away, cutting down all those who stood in her path.

But she could not. For all that Asgard and the council were blinded by their hatred of the Jotnar, by their foolish notion that being female made her mind weak, she could neither harm them nor abandon them. She had a responsibility to her people and to the kingdom. Besides, even if she released Loki herself, they would still think him a Jotun imposter, and her mad. All her breakout would do would be to make the already precarious position _worse_.

Instead, she played along. The first day had unfortunately been wasted by the drugged food, but she put the rest to use. As she pretended to read, she extended her senses around her room, testing out the spells keeping her trapped. As she weaved, she carefully watched the comings and goings of the handmaidens and healers, when they came with the food and when they left with her empty plates. She told the healers sweet nothings to which they listened attentively. While her handmaidens thought her sleeping off the drugged food, she spun plans in her mind.

She supposed the one thing she had to be thankful for was that Odin's funeral had been delayed until she was better. Perhaps there was still a chance he could be mourned by his family. _Together_.

By the third day Frigga had figured out the pattern of the slow trickle of people entering and exiting her rooms.

By the middle of the fourth day, she had uncovered the spells surrounding her room, and worked on a way to bend them _just_ enough so she could make her move.

That evening, she pretended to eat all of her drugged meal and drifted off to bed. When two of her handmaidens, Ladies Gerda and Lis, took her plates to the servants, Frigga left an illusion peacefully slumbering in her place and followed. She pushed her will on the magic barriers, wearing discreet little holes in its weft.

It gave under her strength. Frigga slipped out behind the servants, unseen, and the door slammed shut behind her.

She was freed.

At _last_.

She was outside of those cloying rooms, full of too many memories of a past that could never be returned to again.

And _oh_ , how she felt the pull down to the dungeons (her child needed her, they were _hurting_ him and he was _alone_ ), or at the very least to the funerary chambers (just to see her husband, one last time, just in case her plan did not work). But she had to be back in her rooms before half of her handmaidens switched out their watch, otherwise she would be stuck outside until morning. She could not let her absence be noticed, or else she might be placed under more restrictions, and her youngest would only suffer longer (if he was not dead alrea– _no_ , no, she would not go down that train of thought, she would not let it take her).

With an ache in her chest, Frigga hurried to one who may still help.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the past four days, Heimdall had split his gaze between scouring Jotunheim, and gathering his own information.

So far, Jotunheim had been the more fruitless of ventures.

Loki was nowhere to be seen. By now, Heimdall had searched within every room of every crumbling palace, and in every cave of half the mountain ranges. If the Jotnar had Loki, they had hid him quite well.

Of course, Heimdall had not forgotten how the Jotnar had slipped past him on Thor's coronation day. At first he had assumed the perpetrator to be Loki. Now, it _seemed_ to only be the Jotun disguised as Loki (yet there was a nagging doubt in his mind about that disguise, there had been since day one).

However, it was not so much that he could not find Loki, but that the Jotnar seemed to have nothing to do with him. No one mentioned him, from King Laufey, to the lowest servants of Utgard, to the inhabitants of small villages on Glæsisvellir. It could be that the Jotnar only spoke of him where Heimdall could not listen, though such well kept secrets were rare indeed, in his experience.

Yet it was _more_ than the incredible silence around what should be such a profound secret: it was the Jotnar's actions as well. They did not act as if they had a hidden advantage; despite Loki's unpopularity among many of the nobles, Asgard would be more than willing to negotiate for his release. Instead, King Laufey was gathering troops from around the realm, preparing for war.

Or, rather, a defence. Though they had entered Asgard once already, the Jotnar seemed otherwise unable to leave their realm. If they had Loki, he would be a desperately needed bargaining chip for a realm already so disadvantaged against Asgard.

Unless, of course, Loki was dead, as the little Jotun claimed.

(Or the Jotnar never had him at all, as the doubt in his mind insisted.)

But Heimdall had to continue to look, for even had he not been ordered to do so, it was his responsibility to protect Asgard and its inhabitants. And to report his findings if they were pertinent, which was why there were three men and one woman currently approaching him on horseback.

Every day since the Jotun had been locked up, some members of the council would ride out to him for news. When they did not come in person, they sent a runner out three times a day for an updates.

Today the riders were Hœnir, Tyr, Njord, and Freya. More than Heimdall had expected. They must be getting anxious.

He did not move as they came closer, his face blank as usual and gaze elsewhere, and waited for them to dismount.

Tyr took the lead. “Any word, Gatekeeper?”

“King Laufey has brought in warriors from the outlying regions to the west,” Heimdall answered calmly. “More warriors from Thrymheim have pledged their aid. There has been no sign of Prince Loki.”

There was a soft curse from Tyr and Freya, and Hœnir stepped forward. “Are you sure there has been nothing? Perhaps we should take several squadrons down to look, or to demand an answer of King Laufey. At least we could take care of a few Jotnar before we actually start–”

“It would be inadvisable, Lord Hœnir,” Heimdall interrupted, “as I know not where the warriors would begin to look, and would more than likely get themselves killed upon setting foot in Jotunheim.” Heimdall finally looked towards the gathered Lords and Lady, meeting Hœnir's indignant gaze with his own untroubled stare. He was not surprised Hœnir glanced away first.

“And what of Prince Thor?” Freya asked. “He may not have completed whatever trial the Allfather set for him, but he is direly needed here, infinitely more-so than _Midgard_.” The scorn in her voice at the last word spoke volumes for how much she cared for that world. Heimdall knew Asgard's opinion of the young realm was poor, but then again, they could not watch the great advancements the mortals had made since the Æsir's last visit.

Looking in on Thor had been an element of the other information he was gathering. Heimdall had watched Thor after his failure to lift Mjolnir, as the prince had attempted to fit himself into the lives of the mortals who had found him. The humans were kind, curious, and welcoming, but so far had not taught Thor the lesson the King had wished to teach.

And Heimdall knew better than to bring him to Asgard now. As a mortal, Thor would be weak, and would need defending. It would be much too simple to kill him, leaving the throne vulnerable and Asgard unstable. Or to blame his death on Jotunheim, and then Asgard would raze the ice planet in revenge for its two princes. And without Mjolnir and his strength, with no way to fight the Jotnar, Asgard would start to turn against Thor anyway. Though it irked him to admit it, Heimdall knew retrieving Thor would only lead to ruin.

“You wish me to defy the late King's final order and last command to his son?” Heimdall said instead, voice reproaching with just a hint of incredulity. It had the desired effect of Freya backpedalling.

“No, of course not, though it would be a boon, were Thor to return soon,” Freya said. Heimdall silently agreed.

With nothing left to ask, the nobles took their leave. Heimdall watched their retreating backs for a second before turning his Sight elsewhere.

Thor had not been the only one he had been assessing. Heimdall had never had many dealings with Queen Frigga, but he knew her to be of a formidable mind. While her assertions may have seemed unlikely, Heimdall had not seen any of her other behaviour as erratic.

Then there was the little Jotun himself, and what everyone claimed him to be. Heimdall did not much enjoy looking in on his prison; there was much pain in the nine realms, and most times there was nothing he could do to help. He was watcher, gatekeeper, and protector of Asgard, solely. Yet here, Heimdall might be able to alleviate someone's pain, and do his duty.

These days, Heimdall did not hold much fondness for Loki, and the feeling seemed mutual. The second prince had always been clever and held a fondness for mischief, as well as a curiosity that had often put him in Heimdall's path. But as he had grown, Loki's playfulness could take on a spiteful, and sometimes cruel, edge. And Loki likely had the knowledge, power, and capriciousness to let the Jotnar into Asgard.

Heimdall believed the culprit should be caught and punished, not only for the deaths of the guards, but for the risk it presented to Asgard.

Yet if that Jotun in the dungeons really was Loki, then the punishment significantly outweighed the crimes.

Asgard said one thing. But Heimdall, with his Sight of all of Yggdrasil, could see another.

Such as he could see the Queen, who had left a very convincing simulacrum of herself in her rooms, walking down the rainbow bridge towards him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Heimdall did not react as Frigga approached, though with his Sight that was to be expected. He spoke first, his golden eyes giving her his full attention.

“My Queen, I believe you are supposed to be in bed,” he said, with what Frigga thought could be hint a of amusement. Good. Then this may be easier than she thought.

“That is where the kingdom may believe me to be, but I have no time for such idleness,” she replied, voice firm. “Tell me, Gatekeeper, have any warriors departed for Jotunheim?”

“None yet,” was the reply, and Frigga felt one burden disappear from her shoulders. No deaths had sprung from this foolishness so far.

“And do you think me mad, Gatekeeper?”

There was a slight hesitation, long enough for Frigga to begin a litany of curses in her mind, before Heimdall answered lightly, “I highly doubt that judgment, my Queen.”

Oh, thank the Norns. Now for the real test. She shoved the fear that she would be doubted to the back of her mind, and asked, “If you believe me to be sane, then do you also believe the Jotun locked in the dungeons to truly be Loki?”

While the hesitation was longer this time, Heimdall's voice was steady as he replied, “I believe that you may speak true.”

Thank the Norns, every shining branch of Yggdrasil, and the bones of Ymir First-Giant. “Then you understand my troubles. Asgard is without a ruler, and if I delay much longer it will tear itself down. I must save my kingdom and my sons.” She strode closer, eyes never leaving Heimdall's. “And for that, Gatekeeper, I require your aid.” She inclined her head ever so slightly, voice balanced between deference and command. Heimdall was powerful, and she needed him for her plan to work, but she was still his queen and leader.

Heimdall did not pause. “What do you wish of me?”

“I need you to help Thor return, and restore him to his power.”

Heimdall's lips quirked upward, his first change in expression since she had reached the bridge. “I would be glad to, my Queen.”

Frigga could not help her own lips turning up in a smile of relief and success. “Then tomorrow, look to my rooms by midday. I should have several letters prepared, and I will ensure their placement outside my quarters. Read them, and fulfill their instructions how you see fit.”

“I shall, my Queen.” Heimdall inclined his head.

“My thanks, Gatekeeper. And,” Frigga took a deep breath to keep her voice from quavering, “how is Thor?”

Heimdall's smile grew into one of reassurance. “Thor is fine. He is fitting in well with the humans, and they accept him readily.”

That was a comfort to hear. Thor always made friends easily, could turn an enemy into an ally with a grin and a hearty pat on the back. But he could also be arrogant and too quick to anger, which could create those enemies in the first place.

However, Frigga had one last thing to ask before she left. She could not help the way her voice shook at her next question. “And Loki, he – does he – is he alone right now?” was the question she settled on. There was so much she wished to know, and yet so much she knew it would only hurt to hear, incapable as she was of stopping it.

At once, Heimdall's face drew blank, and his eyes flickered elsewhere for a moment before returning to her own. “Yes. He is alone for a few hours every night. But if you wish to visit him, I suggest you brace yourself, and remember what his removal could mean for Asgard.”

Frigga nodded and swallowed down her climbing fear. “Thank-you, Gatekeeper. I will keep your advice in mind.”

She turned, drawing her magic about herself to cloak her from sight once more, and with a heavy heart rushed back down the rainbow bridge. She returned to her rooms just in time to slip back in. There was no time tonight to rush down to the dungeons.

Luckily, there were other ways to see her child, even if she were not there in person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of you were asking where the Hel Heimdall was. Whelp, you got you answer.  
> About Heimdall bringing Thor home: While I'm not quite sure what bringing home a powerless Thor in the movie would've done, in this story Thor's situation is very different. He had no family to come home to, and would be expect to immediately be crowned king, not just regent, with no Odin to take over for him in a few days.  
> And about a minute before I was ready to post this, I heard my little brother injured his big toe at Tae Kwon Do, driving the bone through the skin, and had to go to the emergency room. Luckily, he doesn't need crutches or a wheelchair or anything, but he's really active so it's going to be hard for him :\ It's also lucky this was already finished, because now I'm worried and not really in a mood to write.  
> Sorry about the bad news! I hope you enjoyed the chapter anyway.


	5. Night Four: Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki is left in the dungeons. Asgard wants answers, for all Loki has none.

Questions, questions, questions, always so many _questions_. Questions and pain, that's what he had now, and while the questions sometimes stopped the pain never did, even when they sewed his mouth shut and threw him into the cell ( _his cage_ , since that's what was done with beasts, they were _caged_ ) for a few hours. He thought it must have been during the night, where one set of torturers slept and then another pair came in to ask more questions and questions and questions and YOU KILLED THE ALLFATHER, YOU KILLED YOUR FATHER

They are not always the same questions. And most of the questions are about him. They never seem to believe his answers, or else they would stop asking him.

“Where is Prince Loki?”

_Loki is dead_ , he says, _Loki is dead he is dead he is dead_.

(He has always been dead because he never existed in the first place.)

The metal table he lay on could be heated, burning his back and arms and legs by incremental degrees. Then they would flip him over and scorch his front while he writhed and sobbed. The head of the table remained cool, probably so his mouth and tongue could not be damaged. They needed him to be able to answer their _questions_.

“How did you replace Prince Loki?”

_I do not know_ , he says, _the others did it, I was only a pawn_. Because he knows that whatever he told them, they would spin it somehow (they always _did_ ) to make the _Prince Loki_ into a coward, a weakling. They would never say he valiantly fought the frost giants until he was overcome, or his magic was a boon against the Jotnar. They would only say that a more seasoned warrior, that _Thor_ , would've been better prepared, would never have been taken; that someone who had taken to the sword rather than sorcery would have stood a chance. They would still speculate, would still think he let himself be taken to spare himself the pain, or had barely put up a fight before succumbing. But at least the rumours would not be _official_.

They would take their black knives and carve skin from his back, his chest, his limbs, and then drip a poison on the exposed flesh. It was a different poison than the one in the clamps. This one burned and bit and felt as if a molten uru had been poured directly onto his veins and nerves. When they were done they would take the needle and thread, the same they used for his mouth, and sew his flesh back together, letting the nerves regrow so they could slice the skin apart later and watch while he tried to swallow his screams. What flesh they did not sew together was seared with their burning knife until the skin was sealed.

“When did you replace Prince Loki?”

_Long ago_ , he says, because it is not entirely a lie. He does not wish to give them anything more specific, because he knows they would try to pinpoint the instant he seemed different; _Yes_ , they would say, _this is the moment Loki changed, he became even more_ wicked _. Although who could tell? He was always a bit different, his tricks were always done out of_ maliciousness _and_ jealousy _, who could say if there was a bit more_ spite _in his actions_?

(If they were going to call him a monster, at least let it be for what _he_ did, rather than their imagined imposter. Let them keep guessing when the beast had stolen away the prince.)

They would slice open his chest, peel the skin to either side, and wreak havoc with his insides. Burning brands fluttering across his liver, acid eating away at the outside of his stomach, slices here and there with their black knives to his intestines. Enough to hurt, enough to force his mouth open and tear the screams out his throat, but never enough to kill. They had to put him back together again, with the needle and thread pushing into his flesh and out and in and out and the burning knives on his skin.

“Did you let the frost giants into Asgard?”

He wants to laugh at that one. But he does not say yes, because then they would ask more questions, and Loki wants the secret paths and magics to _stay secret_. Beside, he would certainly not tell _them_ , of all the people in Asgard. _They_ do not deserve to know what he spent decades researching, following obscure leads and his own half-formed suspicions. Instead he says _No, I do not know how, I was not told_.

Maybe if he stops claiming ignorance they would hurt him less. But if he lies, they would find out eventually, and come back for more.

They sliced open one of his legs and dribbled acid on the bone, weakening the cartilage. Then they released his leg from its binding, set a metal device along its length, and touched a rune on its side. The metal clamped down and the leg shattered in three places. Then they did the other leg. After that, they moved on to his hands.

They left his arms intact. He could not figure out why. Maybe they enjoyed watching him drag himself into his cell on his elbows.

“Which frost giants are you working with?”

“Who is responsible?”

“Was King Laufey involved?”

“Are the frost giants planning an invasion?”

“What are their war plans?”

_I don't know, I don't know, I was never told, because if I was taken captive I might tell you, I don't know_ , he would repeat, giving them excuses because he knows next to nothing about ( _that realm of monsters_ ) Jotunheim. And the less he says, the less likely that Æsir are going to run off and get themselves killed.

(They are only doing as they are supposed to.)

(It's not their fault Loki is a lie.)

Apparently, Jotnar have two eyelids. Loki learnt that when they tore the second ones from him. Then they brightened the room and the cage, light leaking in from every corner, burning his eyes, and even when Loki shut them he felt as if he were staring directly into a sun. No, as if he were staring at sunlight, bouncing off every facet of ice and snow until he was nearly blinded with the light. Because Jotunheim must not always be the gloomy wasteland he had visited. He had not known the dungeon had been dim before, but as he counted the number of torches he realized he should not have been able to see half as well as he had.

They taught him something else about Jotnar. They put a device like the front half of a very large helmet over his head. It was carved with various runes, its outside covered with jutting metal devices, and thrumming power. They pressed something on the side of the table and the thrum changed in pitch.

Immediately, something in Loki's mind seemed to contort. He wanted to vomit, because something was _wrong_ , completely and inextricably   _wrong_ and he could hear whimpering and gasping and pleading, but it was coming from so far away it could not _really_ be him, could it? He could not even tell what was wrong, not at first, but strangely he kept thinking of ice and cold and, and–

He should be able to create ice, like other Jotnar, though he had thought the collar took care of that. But no, the collar just prevented those abilities, like it prevented his magic. And this _thing_ , this device on his head was trying to erase those abilities completely, to remove the ice from his mind, and it did not feel _right_. Nothing about it was _right_.

He managed to keep from vomiting, barely.

Afterwards, alone in his cage, he flexed the portion of his mind they had tried to cut off, and felt something answer, something cold but soothing and safe and _there_.

It occurred to him, as the membrane of his eyelid slowly grew back and he waited in his cage, that the guards specialize in hurting Jotnar. That the device had been built specifically for frost giants.

He wondered if any Jotnar ever escaped from here, and came back to Jotunheim with stories of Æsir cruelty. He wondered if they scare children with stories of beasts who cannot feel the ice in their bones and their head.

He wondered if, on Jotunheim, the Æsir are the monsters.

Then he put the thoughts out of his mind and tried to sleep before the guards came back the next day for their questions.

“How did you kill the Allfather?”

And Loki would hold in his despair and tears and screams and say nothing, as if by his silence he could keep it from being true.

They would beat and bleed and burn his body, ask him until the words were an echo in his head

(YOU KILLED YOUR FATHER YOU KILLED YOUR FATHER YOU KILLED – )

but not a sound would pass his lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

He counts four days, four times his mouth is sewn shut and he is thrown into his cage, when he starts hallucinating. Or at least he _thinks_ he is hallucinating, because he is not sure how Mother comes to be in his cage, crouching next to him, horror and sadness marring her features.

“Oh Loki, Loki, my son, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” she sobs, her hands reaching out to his face. But then she abruptly withdraws them, as if she does not wish to touch him.

Loki watches the tears roll down her face. He wants to put a comforting hand on hers and say _It is alright, Mother, it is not your fault Father brought you home a monster, it is not your fault they do not want to believe Father brought a Jotun to Asgard_. Except his mouth is threaded shut, and his fingers are crooked and broken. The sight would only hurt her more.

Instead, he tries sitting up, hiding the offending hands behind his back, but the movement sends agony spiking through his body. He convulses, a muffled scream in his throat.

“No, Loki, stop!” she gasps, again reaching towards him, still stopping short. “Please, stop, stop hurting yourself, I'm sorry, please stop and listen,” she cries, desperation unmistakable in her face.

Loki cannot deny her. He goes limp, and watches her hands come a hair's breadth away from his face, cupping his head without touching him. “I'm sorry, I could only send an illusion tonight, I did not have enough time, I'm sorry.”

An illusion. So even if she wishes to touch him, she cannot. She would disappear, cutting her visit short.

Unless he is delusional and none of this is real. That thought does not bother him overly much.

She leans in, one hand moving to stroke his hair, before she pulls it back again. For all he can see and hear her, her comfort remains intangible. “Tomorrow, I swear, tomorrow I will come, tomorrow and every day until you are free.”

Loki knows he will never be free (it would be _better_ if he were never free). He still nods his understanding, because his mother is distraught, and so very convinced, and he does not wish to upset her further.

She stays, murmuring words of comfort, unsubstantial fingers ghosting over his head. Loki wants to watch every moment she is here, listen to her every word, but he can feel his eyes drooping. For the first time since he was left alone with the guards, he feels...not safe, not even relieved, but something approaching a sense of peace.

He drifts off to the sound of her voice, and wakes to the clang of the dungeon's doors opening. To his surprise, Mother stills sits by him. She gives him a sad smile, more tears slipping down her cheeks, before disappearing in golden light as the guards approach for another day of questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who have read The Golden Compass, I imagine being separated from the ice for a Jotun would be a lot like when another human touched Lyra's daemon.  
> I remember reading in one of [Coneycat's](http://coneycat-fic.livejournal.com/) Being Human/Thor crossover fic that about how Jotun eyes are not so great at seeing the dark, because Jotunheim would be extremely bright when the sun was out. In this fic, Jotunheim is not gloomy all the time, nor bright and sunny all the time; it's probably closer to how the days work up north, where the sun doesn't set in summer and in winter it barely rises. So my answer for the eyes was that they see well in the dark, and the answer for bright summers was [polar bears](http://sunglassesbungalow.com/why-dont-polar-bears-need-sunglasses-or-snow-googles): [their nictitating membrane prevents snow blindness](http://www.omaha.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20131031/OUTDOORS/131109787/1603). Also, fun fact: I have no idea how to break a leg, nor torture gods/Jotnar in a way that they do not bleed to death, so please accept my vague explanations.  
> And after this chapter we'll be leaving Loki for a while and get onto some more plot.


	6. Day Five: Exasperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sif wished she could do something other than _wait_. She gets her wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fyi, since Sif is Heimdall's sister in both the myths and the comics, she's also his brother here. Just 'cause.

Sif wished she could afford more than one goblet of wine with her midday meal. Unfortunately, getting drunk, or even tipsy, would not be in her favour.

But if she had to sit through one more asinine argument on the damned council, Sif thought she might tear her hair out in frustration.

She supposed she should be honoured she had place on the council in these circumstances. In fact, it was only _because_ of these circumstances that she and the Warriors Three had a voice with Asgard's most powerful nobles. Generally, the non-ruling members of the royal family would have a seat, though seeing as they were all absent in one way or another, Sif and her friends were chosen to fill the gaps. But give Sif an army of trolls any day over _that_ squabbling den of politicians.

They were, for the most part, stuck. They could not rescue Loki, because they did not know where he was (and she prayed to the Norns he was not dead, as the Jotun runt claimed), and they could not march on Jotunheim in case it put Loki's life at risk.

No one would ever call her and Loki close friends, and Sif always had her reservations about the younger prince, but that did not mean she did not care about him. Not even mentioning how _Thor_ would feel, when he learned of the news ( _if_ he heard the news, a more frightened part of her mind said. News of both Loki and the Allfather).

Finishing off her wine, she stood, thinking of going down to ask if there was any word from the Jotun runt. A name, a location, anything that Sif could rush in and _do_ something about, instead of this accursed stagnation.

She had not gone far from the table when a page came up to her, giving her the oddest instructions she had heard since that whole debacle with Thrym.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before the midday break was over, Sif rode down the rainbow bridge to meet her brother, a large white truce flag strapped to her back and four letters in a pouch at her side. The flag had been easy enough to obtain, though when questioned about its purpose by the bored-looking official in charge of such things, Sif had not been able to give anything other than a vague answer.

The letters, on the other hand, while straightforward enough to get, were not in a spot letters were usually found. She had followed the page boy's instructions, which were apparently Heimdall's instructions, and had gone to the southwest corner of the North Gardens. From there, she had climbed the willow tree next to the fountains. Just as she was told, there was a packet of letters, tied together with a bit of colourful thread, in the crook of the third branch above the knothole shaped like a rose.

Sif did not think it entirely coincidental that these Gardens were located just outside of Queen Frigga's rooms.

If anyone other than Heimdall had given her those instructions, Sif probably would have told them where they could stick those letters. However, Sif knew her brother would have his reasons, so she acquiesced, and followed the next set of the orders to the end of the rainbow bridge.

As she approached, she was surprised to see three horses already on the bridge, and three very familiar figures nervously crowding around Heimdall.

“Ah, good, she's here,” Fandral said as she dismounted, rubbing his hands together anxiously. “Now, if we could have those explanations you promised, perhaps?” he asked Heimdall, the confidence he had exuded in the beginning of his sentence quailing under the Gatekeeper's gaze.

“I think I would like some explanations as well,” Sif interjected, looking curiously at the Warriors Three. None of them seemed to be carrying flags or letters. Or anything unusual, really.

“And you may have them,” Heimdall said, with a barely detectable jovial note in his voice, “if the Lady Sif would open her first letter.” He gestured to the pouch.

Now it was time for the Warriors Three to stare. Slowly, Sif reached into the bag and undid the thread.

Two of the letters were addressed to her. One's envelope, the one with the thickest letter, was left blank. And the fourth, Sif realized with a jolt, was for Thor.

Sif tore open the letter to her labelled “Before”. Her eyes quickly flickered to where the Three watched eagerly while Heimdall stared impassively, before she returned to the letter and began to read.

“ _Lady Sif,_

_My deepest apologies for commanding you in such a manner, but your kingdom and my sons have need of you. Heimdall will take you and your compatriots to Jotunheim. Wave the flag, and ask for an Elder of their council. Hand one of them the unmarked letter. Do not, under any circumstances, mention my husband's death, nor Loki's situation._

_~Queen Frigga_ ”

“So what's the message?” Volstagg asked once Sif lowered the page.

She blinked, then looked up at Heimdall. While she admired and respected the Queen, some of her sayings _were_ mad (if Loki were a Jotun, he certainly would not have been raised alongside Thor, for if her friend hated the Jotnar any less, he would not be stuck on Midgard.) And Sif noticed Frigga did not specify _which_ situation Loki was in.

However, she knew Queen Frigga had a strong will, stronger than many realized. Sif knew firsthand how easily a woman could be dismissed if someone thought her weak.

If Heimdall trusted the Queen in this decision, then Sif would as well.

Heimdall nodded.

Sif took a deep breath and said to the Warriors Three, “We're going to Jotunheim. Again”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took a full hour before the Jotnar came to investigate, at least as far as Sif could see. Maybe they were spying from afar, waiting for the Æsir to make the first move. All the while she had a strong urge to tear open both her second letter and the blank one, but she held her curiosity in check.

(She also felt the urge to storm the palace and demand they release Loki, but she knew four warriors against all of Jotunheim would fare worse than last time.)

When a troop of the brutes marched up, Sif and the Warriors Three bunched together even closer, and with an effort managed not to reach for their weapons. When what Sif presumed was the leader of the troop barked out a command to state their purpose, Sif did as the letter asked and demanded to speak to an Elder of their council.

This seemed to take the Jotnar by surprise. They retreated a distance, the deep rumbling noise of their discussion carrying across the ice field, though the words were lost. Then they ambled back towards the palace, throwing suspicious glances back at the four.

Volstagg was complaining about an empty stomach by the time the troop returned, this time with another Jotun in tow. This one had more spots of that green plating they wore across his shoulders, looking decorative rather than defensive. The Jotun Elder, Sif guessed. He took his place at the head of the troop, directly in front of Sif.

“I am Gerðr, Elder of Gastropnir of Jotunheim,” he said. Or rather growled, but Sif thought that just must be the way they talked. “Why did you request my presence?”

Wordlessly, Sif proffered the blank letter, holding it above her head. She barely reached the creature's stomach height. When the Jotun only stared, Sif sighed. “A missive from Queen Frigga of Asgard,” she bit out.

More _politics_. And on _Jotunheim_ , of all places.

At last the Jotun bent down, retrieving the letter between two enormous blue fingers. Sif was quick to drop her hand to her side, where there was no risk of the Jotun deciding to snatch her arm up and tear it off or blacken her hand with frostbite.

Gerðr carefully tore open the envelope and brought the thick swath of pages up to his face to read what must be, for him, incredibly tiny writing.

Sif shifted nervously side to side as the Jotun read, eyeing the troops. They eyed her right back, empty hands flexing as if waiting to sprout ice and attack.

She was so busy watching for threats, Sif did not notice the Jotun Elder was finished until he rumbled, “Wait here, Æsir. We must debate this matter in court.” They once again left Sif and the Three alone in the gloom and cold.

By the time the Jotnar returned again, Sif's stomach was rumbling and her toes and fingers were frozen. Back on Asgard, she was sure night had fallen by now. She regretted not opening the blank letter, just to see what all of this was _about_.

This time there were only two Jotnar, both with more of that ceremonial green armour. The one whose armour seemed slightly more ornate stepped forward and inclined his head. “We accept your terms.”

_What terms_ , Sif was going to ask, when everything dissolved into a golden glow and she felt the Bifrost pulling her home.

Although she did not expect the frost giants to be taken with them.

The moment the blue figures swam into sight, Sif drew her sword, and heard the Warriors Three withdrawing their own weapons behind her.

“Heimdall, what is the meaning of this?” she shouted, refusing to tear her eyes from the Jotnar.

“Hold!” Heimdall commanded. “It is explained in your second letter, Sif.”

Sif risked a glance over at Heimdall. He seemed calm, standing as still as a statue. Still not taking her eyes from the Jotnar, Sif reached into her pouch and took out the envelopes. One of the Jotnar, the one who had spoken, Sif thought, looked amused, while the other was scowling. Apart from actually being _in_ the kingdom, they were not doing anything to harm Asgard.

She had to look down to read her letter, and saw the Warriors Three crowding closer out of the corner of her eyes. For the second time that day, Sif read a missive from the Queen.

“ _Lady Sif,_

_My apologies again, but Thor must restore his strength himself, and for that he must fix his mistakes. You and your friends will accompany the Jotnar to Midgard and meet with Thor. Give him my letter. Defend him if he is attacked, but make no attempts at aggression yourself. Do not inform him of Loki's situation, nor of Odin's death, or else all will be for naught. I know well of your strength and loyalty, both personally and from my sons. I trust you to do your duty to Asgard._

_My blessings,_

_~Queen Frigga_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who we're _finally_ getting to next chapter :D  
>  It should be noted that any and all descriptive words I use for the Jotunar are just from an Æsir (biased) point of view, not what's actually true. Although I should say that most of the Jotnar are just as suspicions of the Æsir as the Æsir are of them. Also, 'Elder' in this case does not mean old, it's just a title for a specific position.


	7. Night Five: Companions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stranded on Earth, Thor remains with Jane, Darcy, and Erik, making the most of his mortal life. When his friends arrive from Asgard, he certainly doesn't expect two Jotnar to be tagging along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It came to my attention that there were a lot of grammatical and spelling errors in the last chapters. Sorry for that you guys :( You'd think, with the amount of times I edit these things, I'd catch all errors, but I guess not *sigh*. Thankfully, the wonderful 1wngdngl offered to be my beta, so if you see any improvement in my writing it's all thanks to her. 1wngdngl is also helping me edit the previous chapters. Hopefully, I now sound a lot less like someone emulating a bad Russian accent, as my older brother likes to put it whenever he edits my original writings. But if you see any further mistakes, feel free to point them out; I know I have a tendency to skip words when I write, or change phrasing mid-sentence without changing the rest of the sentence. You guys shouldn't have to put up with my terrible editing skills.  
> Also, I discovered my links weren't working, and have now fixed them.

 Time seemed to move so much faster on Midgard, Thor could hardly believe it had been but six days since his banishment. He had made friends with the Ladies Jane and Darcy, as well as Erik Selvig, and owed them for the shelter and clothing they had provided. Jane had encouraged Thor to stay after their discussion on the rooftop, and even Erik had changed his mind after sharing drinks earlier that same evening.

Yet their friendship could not replace his former life and home. He did not know how long Father had meant the banishment to last, nor the meaning of Mjolnir's presence on Midgard. Surely Father could not have exiled him for the remainder of whatever life his mortal body still held? There _must_ have been a reason Mjolnir was sent down as well. A way for Thor to restore himself.

But if Father wished him to live a mortal life, then Thor would do so. As he had no coin of this realm, he repaid Jane and the others with knowledge. Midgard was still far behind Asgard, their science but a most basic form of magic, and their concepts rather primitive. He told all he could when Jane and Erik asked him about Yggdrasil and the Bifrost. Both were quite clever, and Jane was resolved to convert Thor's knowledge and half-remembered childhood lessons into human science, despite the loss of her equipment.

He even told what he could about mage-craft, recalled from both those same childhood lessons and from whatever knowledge Loki and Mother had tried to impart. During those explanations, Thor would always wish Loki or Mother were with him. They would undoubtedly explain their craft better than Thor. Perhaps they could wipe the frustrated expression from Jane's face, turn it into one of joy and understanding.

Mother was always a patient and gentle teacher, and would ensure the lesson was known through and through by the end of the day. When Loki could be cajoled into teaching, he could break down any concept to its basics, then he would build it up until the student understood the concept, how it worked, and the history behind it (though as far as Thor was aware, Thor was the only one Loki had ever bothered to try teaching).

Whenever these thoughts would cross his mind, they would bring a familiar ache to his chest. Thor had lost them. He had lost his family, friends, and Asgard, through his foolishness. And he had not the first idea how to get them back ( _Loki would know, Loki would have been clever enough to figure it out_ ).

On the sixth day, Thor and the mortals had barely started their evening meal when a black vehicle stopped in front of Jane's abode. Out stepped the son of Coul and several of his people in identical suits.

As soon as Jane caught sight of them, she dropped her fork onto her plate with a clatter, stalked to the building's entrance, and with a furious movement opened the door just as Coulson raised his hand to knock.

“You _better_ be here to return the equipment you stole,” Jane snapped, crossing her arms and staring up at him. Darcy and Erik joined her near the door, while Thor held back in case Coulson still held a grudge against him from taking down his men. He did not wish to land Jane in trouble if her equipment were truly to be returned

Coulson only stared back mildly. “No, not at the moment. We're here for him.” Coulson looked in Thor's direction, and Jane, Darcy, and Erik swivelled to look around as well. Thor's thoughts instantly went to the night he tried to retrieve Mjolnir. Had the man seen through Erik's lie, and decided he wanted retribution?

Apparently the others had the same train of thought, for Jane immediately said, “Look, if this is about that night, I swear, he–”

But Coulson waved her off. “Don't worry, that's all water under the bridge,” he said. Before Thor could figure out what a bridge had to do with not worrying, Coulson turned back to Thor. “Donald, you have some friends waiting for you in the desert, although they seem to be under the impression your name is Thor. Any reason why?”

And with those words, Thor felt as if he might shed his mortal body right there as hope coursed through his veins. Could someone have come for him at last?

Thor came forward until he was standing next to Jane. “These friends...what do they look like?” he asked. Loki, maybe? Sif? His mother, even?

“Well, there are four that look human, but with weird armour. One woman, three men.”

Thor was flooded with relief. Surely they were Sif and the Warriors Three, come to see him. (Come to bring him home?)

But Coulson was not done. He gave Thor a strange look as he continued, “And then there's the two big blue guys, who look quite a bit less human.”

The relief vanished.

_Jotnar_.

What were _Jotnar_ doing _here_ , on Midgard? And with his _friends_?

Thor turned to Jane, Darcy, and Erik. “I am sorry, but I must go. It would be safer for you to stay here and await my return.”

“Safer? What do you mean, _safer_?” Jane demanded. “Thor, do you know who they are?”

Thor hesitated. He was not skilled with lies, but he could certainly bend the truth a little. “I believe I know some of them, but the others may be a threat.” There sprang to mind an image of Jane, lifeless, her body blackened by a Jotun's frostbite; Darcy, run through with one of their ice weapons; Erik, crushed by their brute strength.

Thor barely repressed a shudder. He covered it by leaning down and laying a kiss on Jane's hand. “It will be fine, I promise. I will come back soon.” Jane looked no less worried as Thor left with Coulson and his people. He watched through the vehicle's windows as Darcy laid a hand on Jane's shoulder, and both withdrew from the door. Then the vehicle began to move and Thor's human friends were lost from sight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once the vehicle rolled to a stop, Thor leapt out, paying little attention to the humans standing in a loose circle around his friends and the two frost giants.

It was odd to see the Jotnar, sitting in the now-cooling desert, doing nothing more than studying the landscape. Their blue hue stood out against the windblown sand and orange-tinged sky, exposing them just as readily as Jotunheim's gloom had hidden them.

Making sure he could still see the Jotnar out of the corner of his eye, Thor quickly strode towards his friends. They had the same idea about the Jotnar, all four of them eyeing the frost giants from the opposite side of the Bifrost's outline, so they did not notice Thor's arrival until Hogun gave Fandral a nudge. Then it was only moments before Thor was engulfed in hugs, ones quite a bit stronger than he recalled, and having jovial greetings yelled in his ears.

“My friends! What brings you here?” Thor grinned, then side-eyed the frost giants. “And with them in tow as well?”

That soured the mood of their reunion. His friends glanced at each other, some shared feeling that Thor had trouble interpreting.

“We were sent by your mother,” Sif said, reaching into a pouch at her side. She withdrew a letter and handed it to Thor, her once-jubilant face now grim. “We are here to protect you from _them_ ,” she nodded towards the Jotnar.

Thor frowned. “Then why bring them in the first place? How did they even get here?”

Sif scowled as she answered, “Heimdall let them come with us.”

“The letter will probably tell you,” Hogun said, drawing everyone's attention back to the note.

Not quite sure what to expect, Thor ripped the envelope and withdrew the letter.

“ _My dearest Thor,_

_I regret this method of communication, but I fear right now my options are limited. First of all, I miss you greatly, and you should know I disagreed with your Father's method of punishment. However, there is little to be done about that now._

_Since you left, a great many events have happened, though this impersonal letter is not the place for it. Your presence is needed at home, and for that you must end this banishment yourself._

_You must convince the Jotnar that a war is undesirable for both our realms, and that a peace can be reached. One that will be beneficial for both sides. You will be King soon, and so they will have to deal with you once you regain your strength. Prove to the Jotnar that you wish for negotiations when you return to Asgard, and that you will not treat them as you have in the past._

_Please hurry, my son._

_With all my love,_

_~Mother._ ”

Lowering the letter, Thor felt a multitude of emotions, but worry and indignation were warring for prominence. Worry about what would prompt Mother's haste, and indignation at being told to work with the frost giants. How did he even know the frost giants _wanted_ peace? Negotiation was not his realm of expertise. How could he be expected to convince the Jotnar they could have a truce?

But in the end, worry won out. He turned to his friends. “What is so urgent in Asgard that I am needed there?”

The nervousness in their faces did nothing to assuage Thor's concern.

“Queen Frigga did not–” Volstagg started to say, when he was cut off by a none-too-discreet elbow from Sif.

“Matters with Jotunheim, mainly. And the rest would be best to hear from the Queen herself.” she said, tension clear on her face.

Thor thought of pressing the issue, but the Jotnar must have decided they'd had enough of waiting. They stood, drawing the attention of Thor and friends, as well as every human in the area, and crossed the imprint of the Bifrost landing site in two of their long strides.

Thor could see Sif and the Warriors Three placing their hands on their weapons. Thor almost reached for his own, before realizing it was beyond his reach. Instead, he let his arm hang by his side, fingers clenched around an imaginary handle.

“Prince Thor,” the Jotun on the right rumbled in way of greeting. “I am Helblindi, First Son of King Laufey, and this is Járnsaxa, commander of Utgard's Northern Regiment.” He gestured at the other Jotun, who gave a very slight bow. The Jotun did not look very happy about the show of deference, though Helblindi – or rather, _Prince_ Helblindi, did not seem to notice. “Are you willing to bargain with us for peace?”

Thor hesitated for a moment, considering if he could do as his mother asked. If _Asgard_ could even do as she asked.

And in that moment, he saw the two Jotnar glance at each other, Helblindi seeming resigned and Járnsaxa with a look Thor could tell meant 'I told you so'.

That looked sealed it. “I am willing,” he said.

Both the Jotnar looked surprised, though Helblindi covered it quickly. “Good,” he nodded. “Then we will begin tomorrow morning. For tonight, we will require lodgings.”

For a moment, Thor had an image of the two Jotnar trying to fit into Jane's home, and knew that even if he allowed the Jotnar to be close to his friends (or anyone in the little town, for that matter), they would not be impressed with any normal human dwelling. Luckily, Coulson decided to take that moment to intervene, before Thor was forced to offer the Jotnar a home right there in the desert.

“I believe we may have something for you. You won't, ah, fit in our cars,” he gestured to their large black vehicles, “but if you could follow along behind them, we'll find you somewhere to stay.”

“Thank-you, mortal,” Helblindi said. He began to follow Coulson's gesture, when Sif strode in front of him to come to a stop before Coulson.

“I will also require lodgings for the night, and would be willing to share with the Jotnar,” she said, throwing a glance over her shoulder at the frost giants.

“And so will I,” Fandral added, coming to Sif's side.

“And I,” from Volstagg this time.

“And I,” Hogun joined in.

Coulson stared at them for a moment, then sighed. “Alright, you four can come too.” Thor watched how the frost giants took the news of an Æsir guard. Helblindi once again had a resigned look, while Járnsaxa rolled his red eyes and growled something under his breath.

Before Sif and the Three could move off after the mortals, Thor drew them aside. “You do not have to–”

“Yes, we do,” Sif interrupted, voice low, but fire in her eyes, a look echoed by the Warriors Three. “Because if they hurt the humans, we are the only ones capable of stopping them.”

A great sense of uselessness rose within Thor. If the Jotnar attacked, there was little he could do to help. Yet there was also a sense of pride that his friends were willing to defend a realm and people they hardly knew. “I understand, my friends, but be safe,” he cautioned, and gave them all a swift hug in parting.

A woman in a suit then motioned to Thor to get into the same car he had arrived in, but Thor ignored her and caught up to the son of Coul, where he had finished talking into what Darcy had called a phone. “It was brave of you to offer accommodations to the Jotnar,” Thor commended. “Not many in the Nine Realms would allow one under their roof.”

Coulson looked up at the frost giants. “Well, I don't know how many roofs they'd fit under. But it'd be poor form to offend alien princes, wouldn't you say, Prince Thor?”

Thor was startled for a moment. He had not realized the man was listening that closely, yet supposed it would not have been difficult to overhear. “Aye, that would seem right,” he assented, and waited for more questions, or perhaps even reprimands. The man only waved him off and put the phone to his ear again.

Once Thor arrived back at Jane's abode, he shared with them the whole proceedings. Although they were curious about the Jotnar, Thor excused himself to his makeshift quarters early, wishing to mull through the events of the day. He lay on the couch that was filling in for his bed, mind filled with thoughts of Asgard, Jotunheim, and his mother's words.

(“ _Please hurry, my son._ ”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally stole my older brother's teaching technique for the way Loki teaches people, because damn is it ever effective.  
> I'm bit a sketchy on the time-line in Asgard and how it compares to New Mexico, since everyone's always in those ginormous golden halls with no sunlight and it always looks like it's dusk outside. But let's just say it's a bit less than half a day later or something on Asgard than in New Mexico. Also, it's day six for Thor, since he arrived on Earth about a day before Sif and the Warriors Three find Loki on the throne.


	8. Day Six: Negotiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter how doubtful Thor may be, the talks with the Jotnar must go ahead.

After Thor and his friends broke fast the next day, another of Coulson's cars arrived for Thor. The mortals drove him towards their compound, where, Thor presumed, the humans decided it best to hold the talks. Any closer to the little town, and the mortal residents may spot the Jotnar. Thor had no wish to incur fear or panic in the Midgardians, sheltered as they were from the universe around them (nor risk the frost giants getting any closer to the defenceless humans, if he could help it).

As the Jotnar would not fit into any of the mortals' dwellings, they ended up just outside the building where Mjolnir resided. Even from the desert, Thor could feel her power, and yet could not reach her. All her lightning-charged hum brought was that painful ache to his heart.

The day only went downhill from there.

Negotiations were awkward to begin with, simply because Thor did not know where to start. He, Sif, and the Warriors Three sat on one side of a large metal table. The two Jotnar were forced to sit on the ground on the other side, since the humans did not have large enough seats at their disposal. The humans themselves were scattered about the area, observing but not close enough to overhear their conversations.

After all the diplomatic pleasantries were over with, everyone stared at Thor, waiting for him to make his opening statement. To _prove_ he wanted negotiations, Mother had written.

And Father _had_ sent him down here for breaking the truce, had he not? For starting a war?

(For being _unworthy_? )

“What do you want?” Thor blurted out. When he was met by blank stares, he amended, “For a peace to be achieved, what do you require?”

“The Casket of Ancient Winters,” was the prompt response from Helblindi. He was immediately met with several sounds of disbelief from Sif and the Warriors Three.

“You know we cannot give you the Casket,” Thor said, trying to curb the incredulity in his own voice. Father had already been through this with Laufey. The Jotnar could not be foolish enough to expect Thor to yield it without his Father here. “What else is there that I – that _Asgard_ can offer you?”

The Jotnar shared an inscrutable look, then Helblindi once again started talking, listing off certain trade items. There began a back-and-forth between the Jotun prince and Thor. Helblindi spoke of what Jotunheim could give (mostly metals), what Jotunheim wanted, and what materials and information Jotunheim would need to start rebuilding, if Thor would not give them back the Casket. Thor returned with what Asgard was willing to give them. Or what Thor _believed_ Asgard would be willing to give, as well as whatever Thor could think of no objections to.

He rather suspected the Jotnar were either testing him or jesting, for most of the materials and objects seemed easy enough to obtain. At least, they could be easily acquired from Asgard or one of the more prominent realms.

The talk of a possible future trade continued until the midday break, where the humans offered to provide a meal for all of them. The Jotnar wished to take their meal separately, which suited Thor just fine. He wanted to converse with his friends without the two brutes overhearing any secrets or personal matters from Asgard.

Except all his friends could tell him was light gossip. Or that they were part of the council, since Thor was unavailable. Or which warriors were nearly salivating for a war with Jotunheim. They avoided the subject of his family entirely, with somber looks that did nothing to put Thor's mind at ease.

After the meal, the Jotnar continued to ask about trade until, at the end of a lengthy discussion of the need for Alfheim lumber, Thor said impatiently, “Is this all we will discuss? Trade? Will that be enough for you? Asgard will certainly allow for some trade between our realms.”

Helblindi stared down at him, while Járnsaxa scowled. Thor was starting to wonder if that scowl was permanent. “We need resources,” Helblindi said calmly, but with an edge underneath. “Some of our people still remember a time when they had access to the bounty of the nine realms, just like Asgard. However, since even before the war, our assets began dwindling. And now we have little. We do not need trade with _all_ the nine realms, if it will not be allowed. But with just Asgard's support, Jotunheim may begin to piece itself back together again, if only for a little while.”

Helblindi straightened, his great height seeming even greater, as he stared down at Thor and his friends. “I know you think many of our requests strange. You wonder why we require Alfheim runic tokens, or milking cattle, or the newest dwarfish stone-cutters. It is because we have none, or not enough for our people, and have been cut off from the other realms for too long. I have been asking for a great many materials, to see just how far your goodwill and your word will extend.”

Thor bristled. “Do you really believe I will go back on my word, after agreeing? After I told you what I would give?”

“There is much to doubt in your word, Prince Thor,” Járnsaxa snarled. Thor stared at the war commander, ready to snarl back or threaten a fight, when Thor remembered how little strength his body now held. He kept his silence (and was that not how his banishment started in the first place, when Thor reacted to an insult?). In the back of his mind, he realized that this was the first time he had heard the second Jotun speak, and was surprised Járnsaxa's voice was slightly higher-pitched than Helblindi's. Perhaps the commander was still a youth, although Thor found it difficult to discern the Jotnar's ages.

“What do you mean by that?” he growled instead, glaring at Járnsaxa.

“What Commander Járnsaxa _means_ ,” Helblindi said, giving Járnsaxa a reproving frown, “is that neither you nor Asgard have been overly understanding, nor amicable, when dealing with Jotunheim in the past. Tell me, Prince Thor of the shining realm,” he said, leaning his great bulk forward over the table, “would you be willing to make amends with us? It is fine to make promises here on Midgard, where the only Æsir here are your friends.” He spared a glance for Sif and the Warriors Three, before returning his gaze to Thor. “But on Asgard, surrounded by those who wish for a war, whose hatred has been festering since the last one, are you to say they would not influence your decision? That you would not consider it easier to wipe us all out, rather than make more deals?”

Thor was going to reply, to say that no warrior of Asgard would go back upon their word, but he remembered the tales the older warriors had told, the loathing and vicious triumph in their eyes as they recounted battles with the frost giants. The same tales that had furthered Thor's hatred of the frost giants in the first place.

Asgard would take much convincing if he were to go through with this plan.

Helblindi must have seen the hesitation in his eyes, for he leaned back again, eyes suddenly cold as the realm he hailed from. “Our people are dying,” he said, voice flat. “Without the Casket, Jotunheim is falling apart. In a few thousand years, there will not be enough Jotnar left for our people to have _need_ of a king. We will accept whatever trade and deals you can make for now, to stave off that fate for as long as we can. And perhaps in the hope that you will one day return to us our _birthright_. However, if you renege on your agreements here, we _will_ go to war. We will fight to the death, because we will die anyway if we do not.”

For a moment there was silence, and a slight edge of guilt began gnawing on Thor's stomach. The Jotnar were _dying_? Not even in battle, but simply wasting away? Yet if that were true, then surely Father would not have taken the Casket. And even if it were...

“You brought it on yourselves when you attacked Midgard,” Thor muttered, in words remembered by those old warriors and the reasons his father had always given him as a child.

Járnsaxa shot up and slammed his palms on the table, leaving indents in the metal. “I watched you, _Odinson_ ,” he spat, “gleefully slaughtering my people by the dozens, murdering warriors and friends who were only defending their kingdom, all with a grin on your face and joy in the bloodshed you wrought. Did we bring _that_ on ourselves? Those who tried to take the Casket back were only a few, independent of the command of Jotunheim. But by their disobedience, they did more than the rest of us to restore life to our land! A land destroyed by a war many had no part in.  I had not even reached adulthood by the time the war ended. Prince Helblindi was but a child. Did we bring ruin on ourselves?” With the same sudden movement, Járnsaxa sat back down, weariness in every line of his movement and bitterness in his voice. “I watched you, Prince Thor, kill my husband. I saw your _great war hammer_ ,” he jerked his head towards the humans' installation, “run him down, leaving me to care for our child. Did he bring that on himself? Or was it simply your love for battle, and your hatred of our kind?”

Thor's mind was blank, though he was sure his mouth was gaping. He had not thought of – he had not even _considered_ – the Jotun lives he had taken. It had not crossed his mind at all in the past week. That the lives had _meant_ something, that with his childishness he had destroyed family, friends–

Of course, it was Fandral who broke the silence with, “You and your _husband's_ child?”

Járnsaxa sent him a murderous glare. “ _Of all the_ – yes, _my_ husband. Of whom I am – of whom I _was_ , wife.” Then Járnsaxa stood stiffly, and walked away farther into the desert, leaving behind blackened and frost-bitten hand prints on the table.

The table was silent once more. Thor stared at the retreating figure, thoughts catching up with Fandral's statement. He had believed Járnsaxa a man, yet if Járnsaxa called himself – herself? – wife, then–

“You are confused as to gender.” Helblindi's voice broke the silence, biting out the statement that should have been a question.

Thor tore his eyes from Járnsaxa, and could feel his friends shifting their focus as well. Helblindi's body was so still he may have been carved from ice. He waited for a nod from Fandral, which was echoed by the rest of them. “Our kind do not produce milk in the way your Æsir do,” he gestured to Sif's armour-plated chest. “We create it through our ice, so Jotun women have no need for breasts. Commander Járnsaxa is female. And she lost her husband but a week ago.”

He too rose from the table, movements seeming heavy, and brought his hands to clasp behind his back. Thor could feel the cold radiating from his body. “I believe that will be all for today. We will resume discussions tomorrow.”

His voice brooked no argument. He looked over them one last time, and Thor felt as if he had shrunk to the size of a dwarf under that gaze, before he strode off after Járnsaxa.

No one moved at the table. Then Fandral stood and walked towards the humans' settlement. After a moment Sif followed him.

Volstagg and Hogun rose more slowly, and Volstagg gently laid a hand on Thor's shoulder. Thor looked up at him, but Volstagg seemed at a loss for words. It was Hogun who spoke instead.

“You should go. See your mortal friends,” he said, voice quiet and face drawn.

Thor stared, mind moving sluggishly, as the words pierced the fog that seemed to have clouded his thoughts. “Yes,” he said, standing abruptly. “Yes, I should.”

As he entered the mortals' car, he was glad he could sit and let his mind wander as the vehicle brought him back to Jane, to Erik and Darcy.

(What would they think of him, if he told them?)

(Thor had killed Járnsaxa's husband over nothing more than an insult, and her husband had not even been the one to utter it.)

He had even less sleep that night than the one before.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the misgendering warning comes in (and with Gerðr in chapter 6), though it is completely accidental; I wasn't quite sure how much it fit under the category of misgendering, since it is not intentional, and as soon as Thor learns the truth he switches pronouns. But I included it anyway just in case.  
> Yes, the Jotnar have two genders, but look similar. The [Jotnar actually don't](http://eovinmg.tumblr.com/post/56692041572/jotun-king-and-his-soldiers-3) [have nipples](http://sexy-salmon-loki.tumblr.com/post/44466689567) [ in the MCU](http://king-laufey.tumblr.com/post/30815623440/frost-giant-concept-art-for-the-movie-thor), so the females don't lactate the same way, so no mammary glands, so no boobs. My idea is their bodies produce milk after a child is born, and it combines with the ice they create. Then they make these little ice-milk popsicles for the baby to suck on :3  
> About Odin: He probably had plans concerning the Casket, and he probably had plans concerning the Casket and Loki, but whatever they were aren't happening now. But I don't believe he would have let Jotunheim die. Járnsaxa is just a bit of an extremist.


	9. Night Six: Worry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki is losing track of time. Frigga hopes she is doing the right thing.

He is losing count of the days.

There have been so _few_ days, how could he have forgotten already? All he has to do is remember the number of times they have stitched his mouth shut, the number of times they have left him alone in this cell. Yet the days are slipping out of his head.

He _knows_ there are five, at least five days. Is this the sixth? Or the seventh? Or is this still the fifth day and Loki imagined the horrors in what little sleep he could muster?

He tries to recount what the guards have put him through. He knows they stole the ice and cold from his mind twice, slipping that oversized device over his head and letting the _wrongness_ of it all scream in his head and his body and his soul. Or had they? Had they only done it once? He remembers them telling him that they unfortunately could not leave the device on him all the time, or else it would kill him. Or drain the lower portion of the palace of its reserve runic energy. Had they told him that the first time, or the second time?

As much as wishes they would kill him and be done with it, Loki is glad they won't use the helm to do it. He does not want to die like that. He does not want to die with that wrongness in his head, separated from the ice.

They like to burn him. They like to cut him. Sometimes they beat him. Sometimes they break him. It is difficult to differentiate between those tortures, each melding into the other until he doesn't know how many actually happened and how many he imagined. He cannot use them to count the days.

Once, the guards had torn off his fingernails. It had almost been a relief to see those blackened claws removed, if it had not been for the excruciating pain the guards took care to inflict. The nails are back now, so that must have happened a day or two ago.

Another time there had been spikes, from his front and back, driven into his body. They had all been carefully placed to not pierce any vital organs. He remembers the torturers' laughter as he screamed and bled. He believes that was yesterday.

One of the buttons on the table had made a current run through the manacles, making Loki's limbs clench and jump, his back arching up involuntarily. The electricity had not been quite at the level of Thor's lightning, but Loki had realized that level of power would kill him eventually. Instead, it had left his body aching and twitching, his mind a tangled mess, long after the current had stopped. That might have been earlier today, right after they had cut the threads on his lips.

They had uncapped one of their vials and forced a liquid down his throat. Then had come a blinding _agony_ for what had felt like an eternity, a sea of white in his mind where every nerve had been on fire, a ringing in his ears that had rendered everything else into silence. When the pain had receded, his throat was torn from screaming, his face was streaked with tears, his smallclothes were wet from when his bladder had given in, and the guards had returned to asking him more questions. Loki does not know which day that was.

He would ask Mother, if he could find some way to communicate with his mouth sewn shut and his fingers re-broken. She sits just outside of his cage now, running soft fingers through his hair, gently murmuring words of comfort. She comes in after the torturers retire for the day, yet departs all too soon, leaving an illusion in his cage instead.

He cannot remember how many times Mother has come down. He thinks it is twice, though he wishes it were more. She makes it much easier to sleep.

Although he could do without the nightmares sleep brings.

Nightmares where Father leans over him as he lies on the table, commending the torturers for doing such a fine job on breaking the Jotun, the snivelling, worthless runt that had brought nothing but shame to the house of Odin. The monster for a son that had killed him. “Excellent work,” he tells them and leaves, ignoring Loki's pleading and sobbing and begging. And then the torturers close in once more.

Nightmares where Thor returns, lightning crackling around his form and fury in his eyes. He bursts into Loki's cage, and with one disgusted and betrayal-filled look, he brings Mjolnir smashing down on Loki's head.

Nightmares where Mother tells the guards to continue their torture, until the runt tells her where her _real_ son is.

At least there is darkness before the dreams begin, a blissful nothingness where he does not exist. Where there is no Loki, no Jotun runt, no pain.

No worry about how he cannot remember how long he has been down here.

Counting the days would be so much _easier_ if his head were not so muddled, not so filled with the guards' never-ending questions.

( _Where is Prince Loki? Did you bring the frost giants to Asgard? Who are working with? HOW DID YOU KILL YOUR FATHER?_ )

He had not meant for any of this to happen when he had let the Jotnar in. They were just supposed to delay Thor's coronation ( _to show Father he was not_ ready) and perhaps to let Loki enjoy a little of the chaos it brought, but nothing more. He had not meant to get Thor banished, to start a war. He had not meant for that Jotun to touch his skin and reveal the blue underneath. He had not meant to be the lie that was Prince Loki.

He had not meant to kill Father. It was all an accident, Loki had only wanted to _please_ him, to make him _proud_ , to make him love his foundling, monstrous son.

( _Maybe he deserves this. For his crimes. For his existence._ )

Mother's fingers withdraw. She leans down and whispers, “I'm sorry, my son, but I must go. I will return shortly.” He hears the soft rustle of her skirts as she stands, the soft footsteps as she makes her way down the hall, the clanging of the door as she leaves him alone in the dungeon.

He counts the heartbeats until her illusion returns. As long as he remains regretfully alive, his heart will keep his time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

As she returned to her rooms, Frigga lets herself think about what she had refused to acknowledge in the dungeons, in case Loki could have picked up on her fear.

Loki was not healing properly.

The first night, she had seen the wounds from the day before scab over; if not gone, at least the wounds had been sealed. Then last night, she could see he was still bleeding in several places, and the discoloured skin she took for bruises had not fully returned to its natural blue. Today, she was afraid he would barely be recovered before the guards dragged him out again.

The constant torture was taking its toll. At this rate, Loki may be dead within a matter of days.

In which case, Frigga had less time than she had believed. She had thought Thor would be able to work past his hatred of the Jotnar, stranded as he was on Midgard. And while she had not expected him to broker peace in a day, Frigga knew that if it took much longer she would have to act instead.

And what if creating a truce did not make Thor “worthy” of his power? What if Odin had had a different form of worth in mind, and Frigga was only dithering while her sons suffered?

(Sometimes Frigga wished to curse her husband's bullheadedness, causing just as much trouble for their family when dead as he did when alive.)

If Thor did not return by sundown the next day, Frigga would take Loki's rescue into surer hands, and deal with the consequences later. She had made the Jotnar listen to her once before in her letter. She had told them the man who marched into Jotunheim only days ago, with the expectation of killing any in his way, would now be wiling to help them. She had appealed to their hope that Jotunheim could be great once more.

That she had done just as much for her sons' benefit, as for Asgard's and Jotunheim's, did not need to be conveyed to anyone outside the royal family.

Yes, she had done it for Asgard and Jotunheim, to be great together once more, as they had in days long forgotten. But she had also done it for Thor, so he could regain his immortality, and set right the wrongs he had caused in his anger. She had done it for both her sons, so Thor would _listen_ , when Frigga tried to convince him to set Loki free. So Thor would be willing to still see Loki as a brother, no matter his heritage. And if Asgard's borders were opened to Jotunheim once more, then for Loki to learn more about his people.

Surely she could convince the Jotnar to listen to her again. A credible story about an innocent, belaboured runt, hidden in Asgard since before the days of the war but caught unawares, and her ability to sneak the Jotnar in and back out again without doing any harm, should suffice. Explanations for Loki's disappearance could be taken care of later.

(Even if those explanations meant Loki could never return. If it meant Loki could not attend his Father's funeral. Even if the truth about Loki never came out, if Asgard hated him for the rest of his years. At least Loki would still be alive.)

As soon as she crept back into her rooms, she sent a simulacrum down to Loki, watching him relax as the illusion sat down beside him. She barely felt the tears run down her face.

Then she lay in bed and began to plan out a letter she hoped she would never be forced to send.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter is so short, but these two are not doing much apart from worrying and being in pain :(  
> I usually try to be prompt when answering comments, but if I don't answer for the next few hours it's because I'm at my Tae Kwon Do testing. Hopefully I don't end up breaking my toe because I did my kick improperly, or dropping my sword because my hands are too sweaty (it hasn't happened before, but you never know).


	10. Day Seven: Restoration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor can't help but think of Járnsaxa's words, even into the next day's negotiations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the lateness :( I have a bunch of term papers to write, my courses for my next semester are fucked because my provincial government is shit, and its all-around exhausting. But sorry about foisting it on you guys. If I don't update next week, it's because I'm trying to make substantial changes to the next chapter, but don't have the time and energy after writing essays all day. Although I will try to update, even if for the next two weeks it might be on Sunday or Monday, rather than Saturday. But I hope you enjoy this slightly-late chapter!

Thor rubbed at tired eyes as he was driven back towards the meeting site. Losing sleep in mortal form was much more taxing than he had realized. The Æsir did not give the humans enough credit for the strength they managed to exude with such fragile bodies.

He did not tell Jane and the others what Járnsaxa had said. What he might have once bragged about to the warriors of Asgard now filled him with a sense of shame in front of the mortals, who seemed to have never touched a weapon more harmful than the 'Taser' Darcy carried. Instead, he had told them about the rest of the day, up to just before Helblindi told him how the loss of the Casket had affected to Jotunheim.

Later Jane had tried to speak him. When Thor had reassured her that he was fine, she had not believed him.

“I know I don't know all that much about your space political relations, or whatever,” she had said, dropping beside him on the couch, “but after everything you've done to help me with my work, the least I can do is help you with yours. Whatever it is you're holding back, it can't be harder to understand than building a wormhole generator out of gold and magic.”

Thor smiled at her, glad for her presence, and thanking the Norns that of all the mortals in the realm, he had been found by one as clever and driven as Jane.

But the words of Jotunheim, of Járnsaxa and her lost husband, would not come. Thor had not the slightest idea where to start explaining how he had always known the frost giants were beasts. Would he start by telling her of the war? Or of his nursemaids' frightening bedtime stories? Or that whenever Loki was scared there might a giant, ice-cold monster with glowing red eyes hiding in the wardrobe, Thor would always be the one make sure their shared room was safe? Yet here the Jotnar were, acting as normal as any Ás.

Thor could only shake his head in response. “I am afraid this is something I must figure out on my own.” Seeming to understand, she had let him drop the subject. Instead, she began absentmindedly rambling about her attempts to order certain equipment from Stark Industries to replace the more mundane ones Shield had taken.

Thor listened, glad Jane could work on some of her research, but even she even could not keep his thoughts distracted for long.

That night, Helblindi's and Járnsaxa's words had run through his head. Was Jotunheim truly dying because Father had taken their power? And the Jotnar he had killed, they had not died in glorious battle, something any warrior of the nine realms would be proud of. They had only died in Thor's childish pique of temper.

He found himself trying to recall details of Járnsaxa's face and body, wondering if there was anything to mark her as female. He had never really noticed anything about her, about either of them, beyond that they were large and blue. He seemed to recall a slightly rounder face than Helblindi's, perhaps wider lips. Or maybe he was trying to attribute features to her that were never there in the first place.

There was a new table at the meeting site, slightly smaller than the last one but made of the same metal. Both the Jotnar were sitting down, watching the mortals wander about the desert and their installation. Thor's friends were standing off to the side, talking amongst themselves.

While he was still glad to see them, Thor only wished to begin negotiations again, so he started making his way over to the table when a snatch of his friends' conversation drifted by.

“- might be part of their plot,” he heard Sif say, her voice rising. Curious, Thor stopped, glancing back at his huddled friends. They were quieter once more, but their arms gesticulated wildly. As he began to move closer he clearly heard Fandral exclaim, “Those _beasts_ could have–” before he was cut off by an elbow from Hogun.

From the way that Járnsaxa's and Helblindi's heads snapped around, they heard it clearly too. Helblindi's lips thinned, then he looked away. Járnsaxa's fists and teeth clenched, making her look as if she wanted to snap something in two.

His friends seemed to realize their conversation had carried, for they all turned to look towards the Jotnar. That also seemed to be the moment they spotted Thor, for they rushed towards him all at once.

“Thor,” Volstagg started off, “We've been thinking we should take a day off to discuss...certain matters.”

Sif, Fandral, and Hogun nodded. Fandral looked as if he were about to add something, but Thor held up a staying hand. “Nay, my friends, I have been asked to carry out these talks. I will see them through.”

He did not know what his friends had decided in his absence, that had turned their minds against the talks so quickly. Perhaps they simply did not feel the guilt as keenly as Thor. They were not the ones who had wanted to go to Jotunheim, nor the ones who had struck the first blow. They were not the ones who had wished to stay and fight. They had not committed a crime against one of the Jotnar sitting only feet away.

Without waiting for their agreement, he made his way to the table and sat down. A moment later they joined him in the arrangement they had had yesterday, with Sif and Hogun on one side and Volstagg and Fandral on the other.

The same diplomatic openings were exchanged, though considerably more stilted than the day before. Járnsaxa was nearly staring daggers at their group, although Helblindi had returned to his diplomatic calm. His smoothed blank face, giving nothing of his feelings away, seemed oddly familiar to Thor. But he put it out of his mind when Helblindi once again launched into discussions of trade and materials they would need to renew relations with other realms.

While the Jotun prince talked, Thor did his best to listen and respond in kind. Yet as the day wore on, Thor found his gaze wandering to Járnsaxa. Except for the patterns of raised skin and her slightly leaner build, her chest looked little different from Helblindi's. But her face, now that he really looked, did not seem entirely masculine. It was difficult to look past the colouring and strange raised whorls, yet if they were gone, Thor might be able to tell she was female.

Unfortunately, Járnsaxa eventually picked up on his scrutinization. “Are you looking for something, Ás?” she snapped.

Thor felt his face colouring and looked to the side. “Commander Járnsaxa,” Helblindi admonished. “We still have half a day of negotiations ahead of us. We must–”

“No, no, she is right,” Thor interrupted, drawing surprised looks from around the table. Evidently, no one, not even his friends, expected him to be regretful.

He met Járnsaxa's cold blood-red eyes with his own. “I apologize. It was rude of me to stare. On Asgard, there is little said about Jotnar females, and I was curious. In fact,” he said, standing, “I believe there is much I need to apologize for.”

“Thor,” Sif hissed, and at the same time Fandral leaned towards him and muttered, “There's something you need to–”

“ _No_ ,” Thor said in a much harsher tone than he had meant, then continued in a gentler but no less firm voice, “I need to make this right.” He stared at them earnestly as they backed down, then turned his attention back to the Jotnar. “As I said, and as you have told me, I have done your people wrong. So, I offer my humblest apologies,” he said, bowing his head. “I cannot undo what I have done, nor bring back the lives I took. And...” He swallowed the feeling of shame threatening to overwhelm him, “I regret that I had not considered your pain and strife until yesterday, even though my Father, King Odin, sent me here to learn from my mistake of killing your people–”

“Did he?” Járnsaxa asked softly.

“What?” Thor's head snapped up, his thoughts derailing.

“Did King Odin really send you here for killing Jotnar?” Járnsaxa clarified, eyes bright and gleaming. Her voice was still quiet, though it was not the quiet of timidity, but the quiet of anger. “Or did he banish you for starting a war? For your foolishness and the possibility that _Æsir_ warriors may die, rather than the lives taken on Jotunheim?”

“I-” Thor stuttered, trying to remember his father's words before he was cast out. His father had spoken of war, of innocent lives, but Thor could not remember if _Jotun_ lives were discussed.

“The deaths of a few Jotnar matter little to Asgard and the other worlds-” Fandral began to say, before Thor could think of any response.

“To see Asgard embroiled in war once more, with _Jotunheim_ of all the realms, would weaken our position-” Sif cut in.

“ _Quiet_!” Helblindi snarled. Everyone turned and stared. It was the first time Helblindi had raised his voice, and once again Thor found something eerily familiar about Helblindi, in that one, impassioned word. It reminded him of when Loki would lose his temper in public, before Loki could wrest his emotions under control.

Helblindi's eyes were on the table in front of him. “Is this how the realms see us now?” His voice was now soft, almost as if he were talking to himself. “As Asgard has seen us since the war? As _beasts_ and _monsters_? Whose lives are _worthless_ compared to Asgard's might?”

He stood, and for a moment, Thor thought he would walk away as Járnsaxa had yesterday, but instead he started pacing. “This is why I wish for trade. This is why I ask for material from other realms, why I want Asgard to let us in.” He did not seem to notice his slip into the singular form. He stopped and looked at Thor, eyes piercing. “I want you to open our borders, Prince Thor. I – _we_ want the realms to see us as we _are_ , not the way you _wish_ us to be seen.”

“If that is what you wish, then I can give it to you,” Thor said, trying to pour all his sincerity into his voice (Loki always said Thor looked like an overeager puppy no matter what, but Thor thought it could only help in this situation).

Járnsaxa answered, her eyes narrowed into slits. “Yes, but will your father?”

“What do you mean?” Thor asked. Why would Father prevent this peace? His father had _wanted_ this peace.

“King Odin has prevented the return of our Casket for over a millennium,” Járnsaxa spat. “He has let us flounder in our ruin, let the realms forget us and our power.”

“Is that why you killed him?”

Thor whipped his head around to stare at Sif. Her lips were white and her hands were clenched, her voice a low growl.

“Was this part of your plan then, when you had your spy murder him?” she continued, one hand inching down to her scabbard.

“What?” Thor asked, dumbfounded. “Killed _who_?” He glanced at the two Jotnar, who looked just as lost as him, their anger giving way to confusion.

A large hand wrapped around Thor's shoulders, and he turned to stare at Volstagg. His friend's face was drawn. “I am sorry, my friend, that you must hear of it this way.”

“They killed your father, Thor,” Fandral said gently as he rose from the table.

“They used a spy, in disguise,” Hogun added, voice apologetic.

“Thor, I am truly sorry.” Sif squeezed his shoulder as she too stood.

Thor felt numb. “Father is...” He found he could not say the words. How could Father be dead? Just over a week ago, Thor had spoken to Father. He had _shouted_ at him. By the Norns, he had _insulted_ him. Those could not be his last words to his father, his _banishment_ could not be his last memory of his father.

“King Odin is dead?” Helblindi asked. He sounded shocked, and when Thor managed to focus on his face, the emotion seemed genuine. His face reminded him of when he and Loki had been in the mountains of Alfheim, traversing a rocky and treacherous path in the middle of a windstorm, and Thor had turned backwards, laughing at some comment Loki had made. He was just in time to see Loki step on a loose rock near the edge of the path, to hear the crack as the foothold broke off. Loki's eyes had widen as Helblindi's did now, his mouth opening in shock. (Because, as Loki told him later, he _never_ slipped. Thor told Loki he was a fool, thinking of his grace before his life, and he held Loki close, glad Mjolnir's strength was enough to beat the powerful winds howling through the mountain's valley and across its cliff-face.)

“Do not pretend it wasn't the Jotnar's idea in the first place,” Sif snarled, bringing Thor back to the present, her double-edged blade in her hand.

“How long have you been planning this?” Fandral demanded.

“Wait, my friends-” Thor tried to interject, struggling to think as the situation spun wildly out of control.

“Who else have you influenced? How many other spies do you have?” Hogun asked.

“I swear, we had nothing to do with King Odin's death,” Helblindi said in a rush, leaning forward as if that could help convey his honesty. Neither he nor Járnsaxa looked prepared to fight. “We did not even know–”

Járnsaxa snorted. “At least it is one obstacle out of the way, though.”

“Járnsaxa!” Helblindi barked.

“You dare-!” Volstagg roared, raising his axe high.

“You mock his death?” Sif drew her sword back.

“NO!”

Thor leapt onto the table in front of the two Jotnar, facing his friends and arms spread as if his mortal body could protect the frost giants. Sif's spear stopped inches from Thor's head, Volstagg's axe only just above Thor's right arm. Fandral and Hogun stood frozen, hands on their weapons and about to leap over the table.

A strange current then ran through Thor's body. He thought perhaps a weapon had gotten past, that he'd been too late. There was the sound of ripping plastic. And then something extremely powerful, something humming with the unleashed storm, and something utterly familiar settled into Thor's open palm, as a burst of lightning opened up the skies.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After he starts to learn humility Thor is one of those people who when they realize that they are in the wrong, will admit to it and apologize, and try to do better. Though, like I said, he has to realize it first. This story turned out to be a lot more about Thor than I had planned. It was supposed to Loki-centric, but oh well :)  
> About Odin: The actual line he says in the film is “you have opened these peaceful realms and innocent lives to the horror and desolation of war”; whether the “realms” and “innocent lives” applies to the Jotnar at all or just the nine realms in general, and if he cares about the Jotnar lives lost (and the ones that would have been lost in the war), you decide.


	11. Day and Night Seven: Departures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor's immortality is restored, but he must still deal with the Jotnar before he can help Asgard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the whole time-zones thing, let's just say while it's afternoon on Earth, it's around night-time on Asgard.

Thor felt as if he were enveloped by warmth. Wrapped up in one of Mother's hugs. The recipient of one of Father's proud smiles. Spending a lazy afternoon alone with Loki. In the eye of a storm of his own creation. He wanted to laugh with joy, for once again he felt strong, powerful, and everything was _right_.

When the light cleared, Thor was in his armour, Mjolnir was in his hand, and he was mortal no longer.

Both his friends and the Jotnar had been thrown back by the lightning, lying in a loose circle around the blackened table, staring up at Thor. Farther off, the mortals were drawing closer, some of them rapidly speaking into their phones. Thor leapt down from the table and approached the frost giants as they picked themselves up from the sand.

“Have you anything to do with the death of my father?” Thor demanded, trying to control the horrible emptiness he felt saying those words out loud.

“No, nothing,” Helblindi answered, quick but confident, “and none that I know of in Jotunheim do.”

He looked to Járnsaxa, who added, seemingly reluctantly, “I had no knowledge of King Odin's death either.”

“And what about Loki?” Sif asked, hand still clenched around her sword.

“What?” Thor asked, turning to look between her and the Jotnar. What had Loki to do with any of this?

The Jotnar stared at her as if she had three heads. “Do you mean Loki of Utgard?” Helblindi offered.

“No, Prince Loki, _his_ ,” she pointed at Thor, “brother.” Both she and the Warriors Three still had a grip on their weapons.

“What happened to Loki?” Thor asked, feeling as if his newly-regained strength were about to leave him again. If Loki had died as well as Father, if Loki were gone–

“I know of nothing that has happened to your Second Prince,” Helblindi asserted.

“Nor I,” Járnsaxa muttered, this time without prompting.

“If you do not believe us–” Helblindi said, then grimaced, as if coming to a decision. Abruptly, he knelt before Thor, bringing their heads to the same height.

He leaned forward to lay his palms on the ground. Ice crept over his hands, seeming to leech out of the sand, sealing them to the desert floor. “I, First Prince Helblindi of Jotunheim,” he said, staring straight into Thor's eyes, “swear on my life that I have no knowledge of any harm brought to Second Prince Loki. I swear I had neither part nor planning in King Odin of Asgard's death. Your friends' accusation was the first we had heard of it, and as First Prince, I would have been informed if King Laufey knew. And I swear if a rogue faction was responsible, then if you agree to a peace between realms, they will be brought to justice.”

Thor nodded, and dropped to one knee before the frost giant. “Then I, Prince Thor of Asgard, swear we will negotiate for a peace, one which will be of a benefit to both realms.”

“I agree to your terms,” Helblindi said, voice neutral but for the slightest edge of relief. Then the ice melted from his hands, and he held one out. Thor reached his own hand forward, clasping the frost giant's wrist as Helblindi took his forearm.

Together, they shook.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Jotnar wished to immediately return to their realm with the news. The same could be said about Sif and the Warriors Three, yet when Sif tried to pull Thor further away from the human settlement, Thor only shook his head.

“Escort the Jotnar to the Bifrost site first,” he said, gently pulling away.

“Thor, we have to go to Asgard.” Sif's eyes were worried. “The realm _needs_ you.”

“I cannot neglect the home that has sheltered me for over a week,” he insisted. “I need but a few minutes to say my farewells. The mortals deserve that much.”

For if he returned to the Bifrost site now, if he heard all that had gone on since his banishment (if he heard what happened to _Father_ , what happened to _Loki_ ), Thor was sure he would rush back to Asgard without a second's thought for his friends. He could not leave Jane, Darcy, and Erik without any explanation, after all they had done for him.

Sif looked for a moment as if she were about to say more, then seemed to change her mind. She nodded tersely before turning, and began catching up to the Jotnar as the Warriors Three followed in her wake.

Thor did not linger to watch the Jotnar leave. Instead, he first went to Coulson, who was directing his people to dismantle the structure that had housed Mjolnir. “Son of Coul,” he called as a greeting, and the man turned. “I, and Asgard, thank you for the hospitality you have shown the Jotnar and the Æsir, and for the use of your land and property. You will be bountifully recompensed,” Thor added as he remembered the two destroyed tables. “Further, I apologize for any harm I may have caused your men. I was trying to retrieve Mjolnir, yet at the time she had not been mine to take.”

“Yeah, I could see that,” Coulson said, glancing at the hole in his structure.

“For all that you have done, Midgard shall be under my protection, if you would have me as your ally. But you must return the equipment you took from Jane.” Thor would not let Jane's work go to waste.

“Borrowed,” Coulson amended and nodded. “Don't worry, we'll get it done. Just warn us next time you want to hold an intergalactic diplomatic meeting here. So we can be prepared. And as for my men,” he said, glancing out at the mortals hurrying across the desert, “as long as it doesn't happen again, we'll be fine.”

“Thank-you.” Thor tilted his head in acknowledgement, and without another word launched Mjolnir up into the sky, marvelling at the feeling of flying when once he believed he might never be able to take to the skies again.

He landed in front of Jane's house and strode through the glass doors. Then he thought that may not have been the best plan when the mug Erik was holding crashed to the ground as the three of them froze.

“Thor?!” Jane exclaimed, rushing forward, an absent piece of paper still crushed in her grasp.

“Wow,” Darcy breathed, eyes running up and down Thor's body.

“Is this – are your powers back now then?” Jane asked, taking in everything from Thor's armour to his hammer.

Thor nodded. “Aye, my immortality was restored. But I am sorry, I cannot stay,” Thor said, lightly taking Jane's hand in his own. “There are matters in Asgard I must attend to, but I thank-you, all of you,” he looked around at the three of them, “for taking me in when I had nowhere else to go. And I promise you,” he said directly to Jane, “I will return.” He brought Jane's hand up to his lips, kissing it delicately.

Jane rolled her eyes, then threw her hands around his neck, raising herself up enough to press her lips firmly against his. Thor was surprised for a moment, then leaned into the kiss. Jane broke off first, hands still holding his face. “Come back when you can,” she breathed, and let him go.

“I will,” Thor said, then backed out onto the street and into the sky.

The moment he landed at the Bifrost site, Sif and the Warriors Three flocked around him. The Jotnar had already left, having been told enough of what had happened on Asgard to start routing out the traitors.

Now it was Thor's turn.

“Thor, I'm sorry we did not inform you earlier, but your mother asked us not to,” Sif started off apologetically, showing Thor her letter. Thor skimmed it, swallowing the confusion and hurt he felt that Mother had _forbidden_ him any knowledge.

“It is forgiven, my friends,” he said, as he handed the letter back to Sif, for they had only done as Mother asked. “But...what has happened to Loki?” He did not bother to cover the desperation in his voice. Loki could be injured, or dead or – “Both you and Mother mentioned something was wrong.”

The four glanced around at each other, as if wondering who wished to be the bearer of bad news. It was Hogun who spoke up first, grim as his name but not without sympathy. “Loki was taken by the Jotnar, and replaced by a Jotun runt.”

“ _Taken_? What do you mean, taken?” Thor imagined a troop of Jotnar rushing into Loki's rooms, scattering his meticulously placed and pampered books, burying Loki with swaths of ice, and stealing his helpless brother away without a trace. Thor's hand clenched around Mjolnir's haft, as if his newly-returned weapon could reach into the past and smash Loki's attackers aside. Then he saw those attackers with Helblindi and Járnsaxa's faces, staring down at him, afraid. Thor's hand faltered, and his fingers fell loose from Mjolnir.

Volstagg was shaking his head. “We don't know when, but we were in the throne room when the runt lost his glamour.”

“It's possible Loki was taken while we were on Jotunheim?” Fandral offered, straining at some sort of consolation.

“But if the runt was the one who let the Jotnar into Asgard in the first place, we can only guess at when he was taken,” Hogun added, looking apologetic. “And Heimdall has not been able to see him.”

A wave of fear crashed over Thor. “Then Loki could be-” his voice cracked, and he swallowed, trying to moisten his suddenly dry throat. “He could be dead.”

“Thor, we have no way of knowing.” Sif took a step forward, laying her hand gently on Thor's shoulder, her face earnest. “And the Jotnar would have no reason to kill him. He would be of no use to them dead. I promise, he _will_ be found.” Around her the Warriors Three nodded, belief shining in their faces.

Through Mjolnir's thrumming power, Thor could feel a storm building, rising with his panic and worry. In fact, it was the comforting hum of his hammer that firmly grounded him as his thoughts were thrown into turmoil.

How could Loki be _gone_? And _when_? How could Thor have missed the switch? He racked his mind, trying to think back, if there were any times Loki had acted differently from normal (though that was next to impossible, for when did Loki _not_ act odd?). Or had perhaps taken any unusually long absences when he could have been snatched, but there was nothing that stood out (because there was no _usual_ length of absence to begin with). And _what_ had Thor thought was his brother? No, not _what_ , but _who_ – for the Jotnar were not simply mindless creatures. But for _how long_?

He shook his head, trying to clear it of such questions. At this moment, they would serve him little, when what mattered most was getting Loki back. And there was something else he needed to know.

“And Father?” He asked as he focused back on his friends. He was almost afraid to hear the answer. “You said a spy did it? Do you mean...the same who replaced Loki?”

“Aye,” Sif answered, voice somber. “We think it was him. He was alone with your father when the King fell into the Odinsleep. And less than a day later...” She looked to the side, and her voice seemed to fail her. But her meaning was obvious enough.

Father had died, and Thor had not known for nearly a week.

“Thor, we're so sorry,” Volstagg rumbled, his face crumpling as he gently wrapped Thor in a loose one-armed hug, opposite Sif. Fandral and Hogun crowded close as well, murmuring their own words of comfort.

Thor could only nod, numb, feeling a tear run down his face.

The last words Thor had said to Father, the last words Father had ever heard from Thor's mouth, were “ _You're an old man and a fool_.” They could never be taken back. They could never be changed.

Thor felt as if he would collapse right there in the warm sand, as if his immortality had never been returned to him. If it were not for his friends by his side, holding him up.

Father dead. Loki gone, maybe hurt ( _maybe dead as well_ ). And Mother....

“Has Mother taken the throne, then?” he asked when he was sure he had control over his voice. He drew back slightly from his friends, enough to stand on his own, but not to entirely separate from them. “Is that why she has not come in person?” If she had taken Father's place, then she would have been too busy leading Asgard and sending troops to look for Loki to come down and help him with the negotiations.

Another quick glance was exchanged around the four, and Fandral answered this time. “There's something wrong with her,” he said, looking regretful to even say the words out loud. “She thinks the runt is _Loki_. Something about him being a Jotun picked up by Odin at the end of the war. The council is worried she's gone mad.”

Thor could feel his eyes widening as he started back. _Mad_? Of all the things his mother was, Thor certainly did not believe madness was one of them. Her mind was as steady as her fingers weaving a tapestry or throwing a knife at a target over a hundred feet away. Yet if she thought Loki was a _Jotun_ , something must be wrong with her. Loki was his _brother_.

“Are you sure?” he asked. Perhaps her mind had been poisoned, or she had one of her rare visions of the future and someone had misinterpreted her talk of fate and the Norns as madness.

( _Or perhaps the runt had done something to her, warped her mind as easily as he had killed Father_.)

They seemed uncertain for an instant, and then Volstagg gave a helpless shrug. “We have not seen her since the runt was imprisoned. The council locked her in her rooms, so she would not get hurt trying to break the runt free.”

The _runt_. Father dead, Loki missing, and his mother locked away because of this _Jotun runt_. He felt a flash of anger, and as the fury coursed through him a great thunder clap echoed through the clear blue afternoon sky. His friends looked up, startled, and turned to him worried clear on their faces.

“Thor?” Sif asked, hesitant.

“Yes, I...” Thor concentrated on his reforged connection to Mjolnir, calming her. Midgard did not deserve his anger. “I thank you for telling me, my friends.” He straightened and slowly made his way to the centre of the Bifrost site.

The runt would face his justice eventually.

But Loki and Asgard were of more importance.

It was a good thing the Jotnar had left, or else Thor would have demanded to return to Jotunheim with them, to search for Loki himself. As it was, if Helblindi was true to his word, searching for Loki would be much easier with the prince's aid.

After Thor took care of business on Asgard, he would find out how far Helblindi would go for his promises.

Thor would find Loki.

He turned to face the sky. “Heimdall!” he called. “I am ready to return.”

The golden light descended from the sky, bringing Thor home to Asgard at last.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the light cleared and Thor could see the gold of the Bifrost chamber and the glistening stars beyond it, he felt his heart swell with elation. The bright Midgardian afternoon had disappeared, and in front of Thor was the dusky edge of night, one he had seen for nearly all his years on Asgard. For a moment, he forgot everything as he looked around, drinking in the sight.

Heimdall's voice broke into his reverie. “Prince Thor,” the Gatekeeper said, coming down off the Bifrost's pedestal. “I welcome you home. However, there are urgent matters you must attend to in the palace. I suggest you leave before I am forced to stop Queen Frigga from enacting certain plans. And I do not know if I will be successful.”

Thor looked at him in surprise, for what could his Mother have planned that would worry the Gatekeeper? But if Mother was truly mad, then she could put the whole palace in danger.

He nodded. “Thank-you, Heimdall.” Taking one last parting glance at his friends, he twirled Mjolnir and took off, speeding over the rainbow bridge to the palace. He stopped off on a ledge closest to his mother's rooms, surprising a servant carrying a pile of linens as he burst into the hallway.

Even this close to Mother's quarters, it took much longer than expected to reach them, for people kept stopping to welcome him home. Thor thanked them as politely and quickly as he could, finally reaching the royal quarters Mother shared – _had_ shared, Thor realized with a pang – with Father.

He burst in, startling several handmaidens, and looked around, searching for his mother.

It seemed he did not have to look for long. With a gasp of “Thor!”, his mother came running from one of the inner rooms and threw her arms around Thor, hugging him tightly while he returned the embrace. Then she turned to the handmaidens. “You may take your leave now, all of you,” she commanded. When they did not move, an exasperated sound escaped her and she made a shooing motion with her hands. “Prince Thor is here now, and he is perfectly capable of taking care of me. You are dismissed.”

They bowed and left as Mother took Thor's hand and dragged him deeper into her rooms. When the last handmaiden had departed, Mother whirled on Thor and hugged him again. “Oh, my son, I am so glad you have returned. I missed you from the moment your father told me what he had done.”

“I am glad to be back as well,” Thor said, then gently drew away from his mother, searching her eyes. He was unable to conceal the hurt in his voice as he asked, “Why did you not tell me of Father's death? Or of Loki's kidnapping? _Why_ did you not let my friends tell me?”

His mother stepped back, surprise flitting across her face, and Thor watched as it turned into regret. She turned her face away and sighed. “I am sorry, Thor, to keep it from you. It was not news I wished to convey by letter, and...” She looked towards Thor again, eyes glistening but face otherwise resolute. “If you had known, then your friends would have told you how they believed Odin had died. They would have told you they believed Loki had been replaced, that he had been spirited away to Jotunheim.”

Mother shook her head and gently took Thor's hands between her own, staring up at him with a tender gaze. “I _know_ you, Thor. You would never have bargained with the Jotnar, if you believed they had taken your brother. The instant you heard, _nothing_ would have stopped you from running off to Jotunheim, even while you were still mortal, searching for a brother that was not there. Yet still, I am truly sorry, my son.”

Thor wanted to object, but the words lodged in his throat. His mother knew him too well, for had that not been his _now_? Still he felt tears sting at his eyes as he choked out, “I wish I had known. I wish you had told me.” And even as he could see the tears overflowing in Mother's eyes as well, Thor wrapped his arms around her once more in a fierce hug, the soft folds of her dress reminding him of clutching at the same fabric as a child, too scared to leave her side. She returned the hug, her warmth and strength just as comforting as he remembered. “But I understand.”

“Oh, Thor, how I missed you,” she whispered, giving him a tight squeeze before withdrawing enough to see Thor's face.

“I missed you too, Mother. But what of Loki? That Jotun in the dungeons–”

“The Jotun in the dungeons _is_ Loki.” For a moment, Frigga's tenderness hardened into a face Thor had seen many times before. Usually whenever Mother had an idea that she was absolutely set on, and even Father would be hard-pressed to stop her. “I am aware of why they locked me in here, and please, Thor, do you really believe I would go mad?” Her voice was pleading, with a hint of anger underneath; though Thor knew her ire was not with him but rather for those who had imprisoned her to begin with.

Thor was not sure what to do. It sounded absurd, but he could not look at his mother, to see the light of conviction in her eyes and hear the firmness in her voice, and _ever_ believe her to be mad.

“Then what is the truth, Mother?” he implored. “Fandral told me you think him to be a foundling Father picked up in the war.”

Frigga sighed, and dropped into a nearby couch. “Not just a foundling,” she said wearily, and motioned to the chair opposite her. She waited for Thor to sit before saying, “Loki is Laufey's son.”

“Laufey? _King_ Laufey? But–”

Thor had half-risen from his chair – to do what, he did not know – but under Mother's steady gaze he slowly sat back down.

“Thor, please, hear me out. The truth has been held from you for far too long anyway.” She reached out her hand and grasped Thor's, as if trying to impart her words through touch as well.

“Yes, Loki is King Laufey's son. He was born at the very end of the war. Laufey left him to die because of his small size. We were lucky he left Loki in the same temple that held the Casket. When your father heard Loki's cries...” She gave a small, sad smile. “Well, Odin always claimed to have certain reasons for taking him home. But I think Odin was just tired of the war, of being surrounded by death. Or maybe Loki just reminded him of holding you in his arms for the first time, and he couldn't bear to leave Loki behind.” Her eyes shone with an affection that made Thor's heart ache. “Your father had a glamour cast over him, and brought him here. We told no one, and I pretended I had had him in secret. 

“Then we had two sons, and you had a little brother.”

Thor looked down at his lap, his fingers clenching and unclenching. The _story_ sounded mad, yet his mother did not. “Did Loki know, then? About what he was?” Or what he _supposedly_ was.

Her voice grew regretful and she looked away “No, and that was my and Odin's mistake. It was not long after you were banished that Loki discovered the truth of his heritage. Odin found him then, and as Loki confronted him about the truth, your father fell into the Odinsleep. When Odin...” There was a slight hitch in her breath and her tearful gaze turned back to him. “When Odin died, Loki's glamour was lost. And because of our secret, he is being _tortured_ in the dungeons, for crimes that never existed in the first place.”

She took his face between her hands, making him meet her eyes. “You _must_ go down to the dungeons, immediately, Thor,” she insisted. “You must promise me you will do your best to discover the truth. To prove that the Jotun in the dungeons is Loki.”

Thor looked at her, seeing fear in her gaze, the dread that he would not believe her.

And still he was not certain of either story.

Surely Mother and Father would have told him and Loki long ago, if it were the truth? And Thor would have _noticed_ if Loki were not  Ás. ( _But then, Loki had always been a bit different, had he not?_ )

( _And if Loki were a Jotun, then Mother and Father would never have let him and Loki grow up hating the frost giants._ )

Yet, if there was even the slightest chance his mother spoke the truth, then Thor would condemn his brother to death if he did not act.

He nodded. “I – Yes, I promise, Mother.”

Frigga closed her eyes and dropped her hands, relief flooding features that Thor had not noticed were strained. “Thank-you, my son.”

Still, Thor hesitated. “If I do not prove it, what then?”

Mother stared at him sadly. “Then I will do what I must. Now go. Please.”

Mind spinning, heart sinking, Thor went.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, I'm heaping all the sadness on Thor right now :(  
> Thank-you to my wonderful beta 1wngdngl for helping me decide how to chop up chapters 10-12, to give each of them a lovely breaking point. Also, without her input, this chapter would've been a lot shorter, a lot less interesting, and a lot less emotional.


	12. Night Seven: Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor goes down to the dungeons to see the Jotun runt, his friends' words and his mother's belief running through his head.

Thor had not been sure what to expect when he found the dungeons, but it was not the dim room and metal cages he discovered upon opening the creaking doors. He could not recall even being in this part of the palace before.

He had informed an Einherjar outside of Mother's room of his intended destination, and the man had sent a message to the pair of guards now bowing as Thor entered. Both were dressed in slightly different attire than a normal palace guard, their armour sleeker and helmets less elaborate. As they handed him a ring of keys, the older of the two said, “Welcome back, Prince Thor. We were just about to start preparing him for the night. It was fortunate we were told of your coming beforehand.”

“The runt's in the last cell. You can do what you like with him, my Prince, just leave him alive,” the other one commented, almost offhand. Then the two of them left, slamming the door shut behind them.

Slowly, Thor made his way down the hall. The scent of blood filled his nostrils, and something like burnt flesh. He walked past empty cells, each next to a table shrouded in darkness. One table, he noticed, was lit. The one closest to the cell at the end.

As he passed it by, he tried to keep his gaze on the cell just ahead of him, yet out of the corner of his eyes he could not help but see the flecks of dark fluid painting the floor and table, the blood-tinged instruments lying almost innocuously on orderly shelves. Thor hurried by, hearing the sound of his heartbeat pulsing in his ears. It took a moment for him to realize its rapid pace was from fear.

(Fear of what? That he would find Loki, broken and bleeding in a cell? Or that it would not be Loki at all, and his brother was missing, hidden away somewhere on Jotunheim?)

At last, Thor could see into the cell, the door open to provide him a better view.

The crumpled blue figure had not been what he was expecting. He had though a Jotun would be larger, more intimidating, or perhaps Loki would be ready to leap into Thor's arm and demand release; both more defiant than _this_ creature.

It sat against the wall, head down, although 'sat' was a generous exaggeration. The wall seemed to be the only thing keeping it upright. Its legs were bent at strange angle, its fingers even worse. Its skin was covered in blood and peeling flesh. What little was intact was crisscrossed with stitches and scars. The heavy chains draped about its neck, wrists and ankles were wholly unnecessary. It probably couldn't even stand, let alone escape.

Thor crouched down, becoming nearly level with the figure. From what he could see of the hair, it looked about the same as Loki's. Though except for mornings (especially those mornings where Thor had snuck into Loki's room and stolen his hairbrush, making Loki chase him about the palace screaming bloody murder), Thor had never seen it in such a mess. And only on the rare, frightening occasion, had Thor ever seen it matted with blood.

Thor was not quite sure how to start, so, tentatively, he said, “Jotun?”

The figure twitched. Slowly, as if every movement hurt, it twisted its head until Thor could see its face.

The first thing Thor saw were red eyes, dull and unfocused, glinting in the torchlight. Then, with a swift intake of breath, Thor noticed the mouth, stained with blood that dribbled down the chin, ragged holes puncturing the lips and the skin above and below the mouth.

With an effort, Thor pulled his gaze away, looking instead at the face as a whole. Blue, of course, with raised curves of skin running over his brow, his cheeks, and next to his eyes. The face of a Jotun, albeit a small one.

And yet, if Thor looked past the Jotun features, as he had done with Járnsaxa, he could see the angle of Loki's cheek, the curve of his chin.

Although, it did not necessarily take magics to change one's appearance. Thor knew more permanent routes could be taken, if one chose, to alter even the very shape of one's face. If the Jotun spy had taken such extreme lengths, Thor could not rely on looks alone (no matter how much every angle of that face reminded him of Loki).

Then the frost giant spoke. Thor was surprised he could even _talk_ past those ruined lips.

“Come to see the Jotun who stole your brother, Prince Thor?” the Jotun rasped, and under the coarseness and slurred words, Thor could hear Loki's voice.

“It depends on who you believe,” Thor said carefully. “Queen Frigga seems to think _you_ are Loki.”

(And if Thor believed the rest of Asgard, then the Jotun was the runt that had murdered his father. Who had taken his family from him, one after another.)

The Jotun ( _Loki_ ) did not move. Thor thought perhaps whatever the torturers had done had affected the Jotun's hearing. He was about to repeat himself when the Jotun said in a flat, lifeless voice, “Wouldn't you rather kill me, than risk having a Jotun for a brother?”

Thor's mouth fell open, and his fingers twitched to Mjolnir. That the Jotun would _dare_ say Thor would harm his brother – that Loki would believe Thor would kill him for a matter of _birth_ –

And yet, just over a week ago, he had marched through Jotunheim, slaughtering its warriors ( _husbands_ ).

But even before he was banished, he would not have killed Loki for being Jotun. He would _not_ have hurt his brother for being Laufey's son.

( _Would he?_ )

“I would wish to know the truth,” Thor settled on. “I would wish to prove whether you are Loki or not.”

“What if I tortured him for information of his life, to better pass as him?” the Jotun said in the same detached voice, no spite or even a hint of a sneer. “What if I used spells to take memories from his mind?”

This time, Thor fought the urge to react, though the image rose to his mind of Loki, Loki with his pale skin and green eyes, and as bloodied and broken as this creature. Then, when he thought this creature might _be_ Loki, he felt the gorge rise in his throat. “Our first adventure together,” he croaked out anyway, “on our own.”

“To Asgard's docking bays. You slipped your tutor and dragged me away from my nurse,” the Jotun said impassively. “Maybe I pulled off his fingers to get that answer. Maybe I carved runes on his skin to draw it from his mind.”

“The first spell you showed me,” Thor pushed forward, mind skittering away from that image.

“A simple ball of light.” A pause, then flatly, “Perhaps acid burnt his skin off for that. Perhaps a potion, poured down his throat.”

“My present to you on your five hundredth year?”

“A dragon-bone knife. For that, I may have ripped out his–”

“Stop,” Thor said softly. He did not want to hear how else his brother could be hurt.

The Jotun – Loki, shut his tattered mouth. And after a moment, low and without feeling, “Loki is dead. I do not know any more. You are wasting your time with me.”

Thor flinched back. To even _hear_ that Loki was dead, and from a voice that sounded so much like his brother's, made Thor's heart skip a beat and opened up a great yawning chasm of despair in his mind. He wanted to reach into the cage to either beat the Jotun senseless for harming his brother; or to shake his stubborn brother and ask him _why was he saying that_? Feeling a storm brewing under his skin, he thought of his promise to Mother, of the conviction in her eyes and strength of her voice.

Yet who else could be that _vicious_ but a spy that had already kidnapped his brother, killed his father, and played on his mother's madness?

He gritted his teeth and growled, “I don't believe you.”

There was a twitching of shoulders that might have been a shrug. “You wanted the truth.”

For a second, Thor thought he would reach into the cell and grab the Jotun by the neck, throttle him until even the dull glint in his eyes went out. Thor's hands clenched into fists, and slowly he let out a breath between clenched teeth. He had promised Mother to do his best to find out the truth.

(And Thor did not want the Jotun's version of the truth.)

Unable to remain crouching in front of that cell, Thor stood. The Jotun's eyes followed the movement, though when Thor only began to pace the runt's gaze dimmed and settled somewhere around Thor's boots. Careful not to get too close to the gore-stained table just beyond the cell, Thor let his feet carry him as he tried to think.

If the runt was truly a spy, then why would he make Thor doubt his word in the first place? Thor had already told him he thought he may be Loki. Why not do his best to convince Thor that Mother was right, then strike once Thor had let his guard down?

Of course, the runt could simply be expecting a swift execution, because he was _not_ Loki, and so there was no way to prove he was. And the runt's words, his _spite_ , was only to do as much damage as possible from his cell before he was sent to death. To make Thor doubt the truth of the Jotun's identity for the rest of his years. To hurt Thor from Helheim's dark halls, doing his best to bring down the throne of Asgard.

Thor's hand twitched towards Mjolnir, settling on her smooth uru head. The hum of his anger ran through her, barely contained under his skin and in her core as he glanced in at the pitiful runt. The Jotun had not moved. If it were not for the faint rise and fall of that bloodied, misshapen expanse of skin that was the runt's chest, Thor could have taken him for dead.

(As dead as the Jotun claimed Loki to be.)

Thor's feet faltered with the thought, his boots skidding slightly on the rough flagstone. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Jotun flinch. The red eyes seemed to flicker before returning to the floor as Thor resumed his pacing.

And if the runt truly _was_ Loki, why would he pretend not to be? What would be the _point_?

Because, as the runt had said, “ _Wouldn't you rather kill me_?”

Thor stopped, and his hand fell loose from Mjolnir as he recalled those bleak, utterly lifeless words. Was that what Loki was afraid of? Yet if he was thought to be a spy, he must know death would be his fate anyway.

Unless...it was not just being killed. Unless Loki was afraid Thor would kill him, knowing Loki was his brother. And knowing Thor did not care.

Knowing Thor would willingly send him to his death, not for the crimes of a 'Jotun spy', but for the crime of being Jotun.

And deciding dying for the crimes of a make-believe spy was better.

Thor's stomach flipped over, and he felt as if his heart would burst with the anguish coursing through it. That Loki would _choose_ to  die, not even as himself, but as someone accused of murdering his own _father_ , of stealing himself away–

Because who else but Loki would be that stubborn, that _vicious_ , to cause both himself and Thor pain to serve whatever plan Loki had decided was best?

And Loki's words may have been cruel, but the tone was without spite. Without hope. Words that did their best to convince Thor to kill him, words meant to manipulate, words which had always been Loki's speciality. Words that hurt, not to bring down Thor, but to bring about Loki's own _death_ –

And yet.

Thor had no real proof.

At a loss, Thor looked into the cage, running his eyes along the broken, gore-stained body. Loki's – the Jotun's – eyes were half-lidded, as if the effort of keeping his eyes open was more than he could manage.

Thor studied the Jotun's face again. With the blue skin and in the dim light, Thor thought he almost looked a bit like Helblindi, and–

Mother had said Loki was Laufey's son.

And Helblindi, _Prince_ Helblindi, with his voice and his demeanour and his reactions, had reminded Thor of Loki.

_Ah_.

For a moment, Thor felt a flash of jealousy, because Loki had _another_ older brother, one he was related to by blood, where any might look at the two of them and instantly see their relation. Unlike how everyone would stare at Thor, then look Loki up and down before commenting that Loki must take after his mother, or a distant ancestor.

But how could Thor be jealous, when Thor was the one Loki grew up with? The brother Loki loved, and who Thor would always love back?

Thor wanted to shout for joy, to raise Mjolnir high into the air in triumph.

Then he realized Loki would not take his revelation as confirmation. Loki would argue until Thor began to question himself, doubting his own memory and judgement. Thor had to prove to _Loki_ , that Thor knew the truth beyond a doubt. He needed something that Loki could not talk him out of, in case Loki fought to be seen as nothing but a spy, out of fear of Thor's reaction. And Loki would not take an unknown family member as proof.

Thor ran a hand over his face in frustration. He was not meant for this kind of trickery, not the way Loki was. Why did Loki have to make everything so _difficult_? Going so far as to offer excuses such as... _memories from his mind_...

The words sparked something in Thor's head. A memory of his own.

And Thor knew he could have his proof. At least, Thor hoped, proof good enough for Loki to cease lying, so Thor could show that the truth _did not matter_. Loki was his brother, Jotun or not.

Of course, if Loki were his usual self, Thor's plan would never work. But looking at those glazed eyes, Thor thought he might have a chance.

“Do you remember the day we were hunting drakes in the Western Plains of Vanaheim?” Thor asked, confidence in his voice once more as he crouched down in front of the open cell.

Loki's eyes widened slightly, startled, as if he had forgotten Thor's presence. He looked up, bringing his unfocused gaze to Thor's face. Red eyes blinked slowly and a blue tongue darted across ruined lips. “This again?” he slurred, and Thor thought he could hear exasperation under the pain, a tone so utterly familiar that Thor wanted to weep. He could almost hear what Loki would say if he were well, _You never learn, Thor, you think if you are just a bit more forceful, if you hit it just a bit harder, something will change. You wouldn't know finesse if it took Mjolnir and knocked you over the head_. “Yes. You killed three. Then told me that Father would not let me keep the one I had captured as a pet.”

Of everything, that _would_ be the most important detail Loki would remember. “And how about the pools in the caves of Nastrond Mountain on Alfheim? The heated ones we discovered on our second trip there?” Thor could barely conceal the excitement in his voice, but Loki did not seem to notice anything amiss. And now that Thor could recognize his brother, through the unfamiliar skin, it hurt to see just how far gone Loki was. What had they _done_ to him?

“Yes, I remember. Those pools are hardly a secret.”

“And when we were travelling on the Revvak Plains of Vanaheim about three centuries ago, we were lost and had to find shelter from a snow storm?”

Loki stared at him blankly. “What?”

Thor attempted to put on a worried air. “You mean you do not remember dragging me into the forest for shelter?” he asked plaintively.

Loki blinked slowly as a slight frown formed between his brows. “No.” A gleam of distress entered those blood-red eyes, so unlike and yet so similar to the ones Thor knew. He glanced away from Thor's face, gaze darting around the cell as if it held the answer. “I-I don't...”

Thor could not help the smile of relief from creeping onto his face. “That is because it never happened, Loki.”

There was a long pause as Loki stared at him, mangled blue lips parted slightly in confusion. “You tricked me,” he said at last, shock bleeding into that flat voice.

“It was your trick first, Loki. With Sif, in the wilds of theRingsfjordForest.”

Loki's eyes finally landed on Thor's and remained there, some of the fog clearing from their depths. “And the Dire Wraiths. Because none of you had a better plan.”

Dire Wraiths were shapeshifters, but they required physical contact with their target in order to take their shape. Their touch would also let them absorb some of their target's memories. Not all of them, but enough to pass.

There had been reports of a cluster of them by RingsfjordForest, people not acting as they should in the nearby villages, reports of non-magic users being in two places at once. So Thor had dragged along Loki, Sif, and the Warriors Three to investigate (and despite his protests, Loki actually seemed eager to look for the Dire Wraiths).

Sif had ended up separated, and when the five of them had seen her emerge from the forest, Loki had ordered the rest of them to stay back while he interrogated her. He had asked her four questions, and on the last one he had leaned in close and whispered in her ear. Sif had not reacted, and had answered each one in the affirmative. Loki had smiled, said, “Glad to have you back, Sif,” and slit her throat. A dead Dire Wraith had fallen to the ground before Thor could make any protest.

As soon as Thor demanded an explanation, Loki had given an exasperated sigh. “Well, you can't just ask questions about what they _do_ know. The chances of hitting on something they did not absorb are too slim. Now if you ask leading questions about things that _didn't_ happen, they either agree with you so it looks like they know what they are talking about, or they stab you because they are the real one and think _you_ are the Dire Wraith.” Then he gave the Dire Wraith an askew glance and said with a smirk, “Beside, she didn't walk like Sif. Much too delicate.”

When the real Sif had shown up, Loki once again asked her another set of questions. However, on the third one, Sif had snapped, “What in the nine realms is wrong with you? I've never wanted to visit a Midgardian crypt, let alone with _you_.” Thor was glad Loki did not try to whisper a last question in her ear, or Loki may have ended up on the ground next to the Dire Wraith.

“I do not believe Sif has ever forgiven you for being so quick to stick a knife in her neck.” Thor took out the ring of keys from his belt and ducked into the cell with his brother.

“You tricked me with _my_ trick,” Loki said, the red gaze filled with a mixture of accusation and indignation. Yet he did not move as Thor reached over and unlocked the chains around his ankles.

“Loki, only _you_ could be so affronted that I fooled you while you have one foot in Valhalla,” Thor said fondly, tears blurring his vision as he moved to the chain binding Loki's wrists. Thor did his best not to touch the misshapen fingers, and winced when he saw the mangled wrists. He let the hands gingerly slide to the floor once he released them.

“Jotnar do not go to Valhalla,” came the quiet reply. Thor's head snapped up, fear cutting through his relief.

Tears were gathering at the corners of Loki's eyes. He was staring at Thor as if he were drowning, lost under the weight of the words he had heard his whole life. “Monsters do not belong in Valhalla, Thor,” the broken voice rasped. Loki's breath quickened, his chest rising and falling with short little gasps that Thor realized were sobs.

“Loki!” Thor's hands fumbled for the last key, then shoved it in the lock around the collar. Gently, Thor opened the jaws of the last of the chains around his brother and threw it to the side. Thor heard it strike metal as he put his arms around Loki, holding him close.

“I killed him, I killed him, I killed him-” Loki was babbling, words nearly incomprehensible, coming in between gasps and through bloodied lips.

“Loki, you are not a monster. Jotnar are not monsters.” But how often had Thor called the frost giants just that in his youth? How often had Loki heard it from friends, from warriors, from nobles?

(Had Thor not called them that only days ago?)

Carefully, Thor took a firmer hold around his little brother and stood. He carried his brother out of the dungeons, shouting for the guards, the servants, the healers, his mother.

Anyone who would help keep Loki safe.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that in the way I word it in this chapter, I sort of treat Valhalla like Heaven, while the methods of getting there are quite different. However, I don't think the Æsir think Jotnar can die an honourable enough death to go to Valhalla, nor could they imagine feasting with them for near eternity. Besides, the dead of Valhalla are supposed to fight against the giants at Ragnarok, so the Æsir probably wouldn't think of giants being able to fight by their side.  
> I freely admit that Thor and Loki's method of looking for shapeshifters/spies was stolen from the [very first episode](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3tv1HYSngQ8) of [Hogan's Heroes](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hogan's_Heroes%20).  
> I used the [Dire Wraiths](http://marvel.wikia.com/Dire_Wraiths) because they are shapeshifters, but aren't exclusively called Skrulls/Chitauri (though according to their Wiki page they are a Skrull offshoot). Apart from their ability to shapeshift, I made all the other information up. And I took the words Ringsfjord, Nastrond, and Revvak from [this](http://siege-loki-problems.tumblr.com/post/77815060246/asgard-the-continent-from-the-marvel) map.


	13. Days Seven to Ten: Mourning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor has saved Loki from the dungeons. Loki does not know where that leaves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, sorry this is about twelve hours late! Due to length, I ended up splitting this chapter into two parts, but I was struggling to actually give this chapter a point. Thanks to my beta 1wngdngl for helping me through the rough bits :) Unfortunately, in between watching _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ (finally) and then seeing a slideshow from my brother's trip to Europe, I wasn't left with much time to edit. But it got done eventually.

The first people to answer Thor's shouts had been Loki's torturers. Loki only knew that because he was told he had started screaming the moment he heard their voices. He was told he had not stopped until the healers had forced him into a dreamless sleep. Thor had apparently run with him all the way to the healing rooms, frightening the lower half of the palace.

(Loki would have found it funny.

If it had not meant the truth would now be impossible to keep secret.)

He only had three healers. Mother and Thor had not trusted anyone else. Eir, the Head Healer, faithfully dedicated to her craft and therefore indifferent towards Loki's species, was a no-nonsense woman who had originally come from a village near Hogun's. The other two, Healer Maija and Healer Synnove, had looked after Loki since he was a child. They already knew there was something wrong with Loki, so the revelation of his heritage had not been too much of a shock.

Healer Maija had told him this after he woke up for the first time, sitting next to his bed with one steady, dark-skinned hand on his shoulder.

Loki had not been entirely composed in awakening, his exhausted mind trying to reconcile the broken, weak feeling of his body with the absence of hard stone and manacles.

As he remembered Thor, Thor and his complete _stubbornness_ , Thor who had removed those chains, Loki had fought the heaviness of his eyelids and opened his eyes. He was _sure_ he would find himself in another dungeon, one slightly more comfortable out of remembrance of a shared (false) brotherhood. And one where Thor could keep him until a proper, public execution could be arranged.

The stark white of the healing room had not been expected. Wincing at the light and the sickening feeling of those hideous second eyelids sliding down, Loki had twisted his body to side, swallowing a groan of pain as skin tore and broken bones shifted. He needed to see where he was, he _needed_ to know if this was real. That he was not delusional, that his mind had not finally let go of its last vestiges of sanity by showing him only what he wanted to see.

(Although if he were truly seeing what he wished to see, he would be back in his own chambers. Father and Mother and Thor would be by his side, telling him not to worry, he had been feverish and sick since before Thor's coronation. The only thing that would have menaced him would be his dreams.)

All Loki could see was more of the healing room, and as he struggled to sit up he saw the thin sheets covering up his body from his shoulders downward. The feeling of his limbs moving felt curiously disconnected from sight the malformed lumps lurching awkwardly under the covers. Then soft hands were pushing him back against the pillows, and Healer Maija's gentle but firm voice was ordering him to relax. She waited until Healer Synnove joined her to remove her hands and settle into the chair. As Healer Maija told him how he came to be in the healing rooms, every time Loki felt himself shaking, his throat feeling as if it was constricting his breath, she and Healer Synnove gently kept him in place.

“You must stay still, Loki,” Healer Synnove soothed, her russet hands on his bandage-swathed arm and shoulder. “Your wounds are dire, and you might re-injure yourself.”

Then she told him he would have to stay in his Jotun skin (his real skin) for a few days.

So he could heal properly.

So there would be no ( _visible_ ) scars.

Loki had felt that same hysteria from all those days ago (how many days ago, how long had it _been_? ). It burst out of his chest and numb lips in sobs and garbled words (more days, even more days in this _skin_ , then it would all be wiped out as if the pain had never happened, as if Loki didn't deserve any of it after what he had done to Asgard, to _Father_. And why did it  even _matter_ , if they removed all traces of the dungeon, for what was one more scar on a _Jotun_? ).

By then, Loki was confident that this room was real. But as his broken body convulsed and blood from ragged lips trickled down his throat, he did not think it was relief that was burrowing its way through his stomach.

It felt more like grief.

For if he was still alive, if he was going to be _kept_ alive, then he was of no help to anyone. Loki could not protect Father's name from the crime of bringing Loki home. And Mother's as well, for loving him all these years. Perhaps even Thor's, for leaving him alive and giving him a place to heal.

If Loki Laufey's son no longer had his use in Father's plan for peace, if Loki Odin's son no longer had his use as a prince of Asgard, then what use _did_ he have?

His thoughts churned and his body shook until Healer Maija had dabbed a tincture on his eyelids as Healer Synnove held him down, and Loki fell into darkness again.

He spent much of the first few days asleep while the Healers worked. Loki thought it was only partially because it was easier to work on a sleeping patient.

Loki did not mind much. Each sleeping draught they gave him was preceded by a nutrient broth, one light enough for his body to handle, which made resting more desirable than staying awake with a stomach that felt oddly full.

And with each potion, Loki would not have to see the needles as they sewed up ragged skin, would not have to feel his bones being re-broken so they could heal properly, would not have to see his chest bared open as they tried to heal the damage to his organs. And since it muted the pain, all he felt when awake was a dull ache, only spiking or jolting through limbs whenever he moved. If he let the potion muddle his mind and relax his body, he barely felt connected to the scarred, mangled Jotun body underneath the thin white sheets. He did not even have to look at the blue skin, either keeping his eyes closed (in case those _other_ eyelids came down again) or staring up at the dull white ceiling until he fell into sleep once more.

(And while he was asleep, he did not have to think. About his skin, or anything at all.)

In fact he preferred the sleep given by the magic to real sleep.

Because just as in the dungeons, real sleep brought nightmares. Most of them were never clear, just fear and pain, burning and breaking. 

The dreams he could remember were the ones where Father lay dying, bleeding, skin blackened from frostbite, Loki's blue hands holding the knife. Father would accuse Loki of killing him, would say he should never have brought Loki to Asgard, he should have left Loki to die.

The ones where Thor would see Loki in his Jotun skin, and there would always be loathing in his eyes. Thor would call Loki a monster, and a beast, would rail against him for ever trying to pretend to be his brother. Then Thor would take Loki's neck in his hands and throttle him.

The ones where Frigga would pat his head, saying she was sorry but she could no longer have a monster for a son, and would drive a knife into his belly.

Once, his second day in the healing rooms, Loki awoke to hands on his shoulders, shaking him, and voices above his head. For a moment Loki thought he was back in the cage, the guards waking him from a disturbed sleep for another day of questions (even though he could feel the softness beneath his back, the light from the windows through his eyelids). He lashed out, throwing his bandaged and splinted hands upward towards the shape above him (though he would probably re-break his hands, send agony through his damaged wrists).

The figure stepped back, grabbing Loki's arms gently instead. Still Loki struggled, pain lancing through his body with each movement, but the figure laid Loki's arms down and moved to Loki's side. 

“Loki, stop,” it commanded, and Loki did because he recognized the voice. He blinked and tried to focus, Hogun's face swimming into view.

Loki felt a strange mixture of gladness and fear blooming in his chest. Was Hogun going to kill him? Were the rest of the Warriors Three with him, maybe with Sif keeping Thor occupied while the Three removed the Jotun blight from Asgard?

“You were muttering in your sleep and moving around,” Hogun said calmly, though there was a small crease on his forehead that Loki would identify as worry, if the idea were not so absurd.

Loki only stared at him, waiting for the warrior to draw his mace from his belt. Or maybe he'd use Volstagg's axe, if he could carry it in inconspicuously enough. There would be less mess that way.

Hogun stared back, the small crease growing into a frown. “You were having a nightmare,” he explained. “So I woke you.”

_Why_ , Loki wondered. It would be easier to kill him if he were asleep. But as Hogun's face grew troubled, Loki thought he might have actually assessed Hogun's concern correctly. Yet why would Hogun care about _him_?

“You might have hurt yourself,” the warrior said hesitantly, and paused as if waiting for Loki to say something. Even if Loki wished to answer through the gauze and healing runes dotting his torn lips, he was too busy puzzling through Hogun's apparent emotions to think of an answer. When Loki only stayed silent, Hogun continued, “I woke you, so you would not be hurt. And your dream seemed unpleasant.”

After a moment, Loki made a small sound in the back of his throat. Mostly because he had no idea what he _should_ say. It must have been enough acknowledgement for Hogun, for he nodded and walked towards the door. To Loki's surprise, when Hogun walked out the doorway, his footsteps did not fade down the corridor and off to whatever more important business he had. Instead, he stepped to the side, standing straight and tall. Shifting slightly so he could peer out the door, ignoring the somewhat-numbed pain cleaving his chest, Loki thought he could make out Fandral on the other side of the doorway.

That was when Loki learnt his room was guarded.

And every time he looked, it was always the Warriors Three and Sif. No Einherjar. No normal guards.

And no one but they, the three healers, and Thor and Mother ever came through those doors.

Loki doubted that was _only_ because no one else wished to see him (though he certainly believed that part of it). Did that mean all of Asgard _knew_ , and, ridiculous as it seemed, Sif and the Warriors were trying to keep Loki safe? Or was Loki and his unfortunate heritage being hidden from the prying eyes of Asgard, even after Thor ran with his quite obviously _Jotun_ body through the palace?

Loki knew better than to ask the Healers. They would not wish to upset him, and would only say whatever they thought would keep him calm. Yet he was in no state to ask Mother during her first few visits. Whenever he woke to her near his bedside, Loki was barely awake, noticing little but the hand running through his hair and the murmur of her voice as she spoke with the healers.

And even if Thor's first visit had not been hazy, Loki had not thought of asking him. Loki had not believed Thor would come in the first place.

Thor came in one of the scant periods that Loki was awake, reaching consciousness slowly. When he opened his eyes and turned his head to the side, he saw Thor, sitting with his head bowed. Loki had stared, thoughts moving sluggishly.

Thor had not killed him. Even though Thor knew Loki was Jotun, though he could _see_ his patterned blue skin and _must_ have heard he was Laufey's son, Thor had saved him.

Loki did not understand.

Why he had been left alive? Why was Thor _here_ , by Loki's side. Why would Thor wish to be in the presence of his Jotun (not)brother any longer than necessary?

Soon, Thor shifted, lifting his head. When he spotted Loki's open ( _red_ ) eyes, Thor started. Then his face split into a wide grin.

“Loki,” he beamed, leaning forward. One hand stretched out. Loki waited for the hand to curve around his throat, crushing the life out of him, or for the other hand to find Mjolnir.

Thor's hand reached Loki's neck and cradled it as if Loki might break, his thumb caressing Loki's cheek. “I missed you,” he said, a sad smile replacing his previous bright grin.

Then Healer Eir came by with a tray full of potions, rune-covered stones, bandages, and other instruments and shooed Thor away. “You can visit him later,” she said and gave Loki a draught that dropped him into sleep once more.

The next time Loki woke up, Thor was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loki was sure it was only a dream, the one time he heard Mother and Thor together at his bedside. A dream, not a nightmare, but most definitely a dream because it sounded as if Thor was _crying_.

“–if I had been there, if I had not been a damned fool–” Thor's voice was a low rumble fading in and out of Loki's hearing.

“Hush, my child.” And that was Mother's voice, soft and reassuring. “This is not your fault. There was nothing you could have done....” A wave of darkness overtook Loki, smothering the words, and when it receded Thor was speaking.

“....I miss him, Mother. The last thing I said to him, in the Bifrost chamber –” Thor choked on his words, and Loki wanted to reach out, to comfort him, except the dream wouldn't let him move his arms.

“Thor, _no_ , do not let that overshadow everything else. He knew you loved him, he knew those words were not how you felt, and I _know_ he loved you as well. We may have been separated, at the end, but it was not without the hope of being reunited, as we have been–” A sob broke in Mother's voice, and then there was the sound of shifting clothing and leathers, then silence. The silence went on long enough for Loki's mind to start to drift away, before the sound of his name brought him back.

“And Loki, if I had known, _before_ , about Loki's past–”

“Now _that_ is not your fault,” she interrupted, her words sharper. “If it is anyone's, it is ours, for being so sure of ourselves, so shortsighted that we thought we could set things right when the time came.”

A pause. “Do you think we still have time now? After what happened....”

The words faded as he was lost in another wave of darkness, and this time it did not recede until Loki awoke gradually, to find Mother sitting by his side, a sorrowful look on her face.

By then, the dream had disappeared from his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was on the third day that they planned to hold Father's funeral.

Mother told him that morning, waiting by his bedside until Loki was awake and aware enough to listen. She put her hand on his arm, keeping her gentle fingers on one of the least damaged areas of his arm. “I wanted to wait until you were completely healed,” she apologized, “but we can still manage. The Healers say you can leave long enough for the funeral. And ten days has been enough of a delay. Asgard deserves to mourn their king, and it would not be right to leave his body in stasis any longer.” Her voice was full of warmth and hope as she gave a sad smile and said, “And then we can honour your father together, at last.”

Loki nodded slowly, fighting through the last of the haze in his mind as he thought.

Ten days. Ten days since Father died. Which meant only seven in that dungeon.

(Though it had felt much longer.)

And now he was to be brought out before Asgard, for the first time since his skin had been taken away. Did Mother not care what the realm thought of the Jotun interloper? Or had she thought up another lie?

Before she stood up to leave, Loki managed to croak out, “Does Asgard know?”

He did not have to gesture down at his body for Mother to figure out his meaning. She glanced away, but Loki could still see the gleam of tears in her eyes. “No, not all of them, and not everything. Not yet.” Focusing back on Loki, she brushed his knotted hair away from his forehead. “I'm sorry it had to be this way, Loki. I'm sorry you had to be put through all this, and–” Her face crumpled, the tears overflowing, but after a deep, steadying breath, she continued. “And I know none of this can be taken back. We have to do what we can to make this better. And to heal.” With as firm a hug as she could give, she then stood and left for her palace duties.

Loki stared after the doorway, feeling empty. He could not help but doubt his Mother's words. He did not know if he _could_ be better. If he _could_ heal.

What could change truth of his skin, or the nature of the Jotnar?

Loki knew if the realm was told the truth, they would never let him attend Father's funeral. Loki thought he might agree with them. 

(Especially if they knew the truth of who killed him.)

And with that thought, Loki felt as if a great hole had been opened in his chest, more painful than any of the ones the torturers had made.

Loki had not expected to attend Father's funeral (Loki had never expected to leave his cage alive). And Loki _wanted_ to see his father one last time, to say goodbye (something he had not even said in the Vault as Father collapsed, when Loki had _snarled_ at him instead), to apologize (something he had not done even at Father's bedside, instead consumed with thoughts of Thor and himself), to let Father know he loved him. Yet would not Loki's presence be a disgrace?

Then the three Healers crowded around his bed. Loki gratefully accepted the sleeping draught Healer Synnove carefully helped him drink, and let his thoughts disappear for a short while.

In the evening, Mother came in, carrying several folded clothes. Loki was going to ask why she was doing a servant's work when she shook them out, revealing them to be Loki's. With a pang of both thankfulness and shame, Loki realized she had not trusted anyone else to enter his rooms and take care of his possessions.

All of Asgard was loyal to the throne and the royal family. They had no reason to be loyal to a child of their enemy.

Together, with the help of the Healers and some magic, Loki was dressed. The clothes were loose, in order to fit over his bandages and prevent chafing along the healing skin. But they were still formal.

Still regal.

Clothes fit for a prince of Asgard.

“I cannot go like this,” Loki gasped, staring down at shaking hands in his lap. Only the black nails and a hint of blue were visible outside of the bandages, but Loki's face remained uncovered. “I cannot look like this when–” _when Father leaves us, when I see him for the last time, I do not want him to see his worthless_ Jotun _son_.

“Do not worry,” Frigga said, leaning over the bed to plant a kiss on his brow. “I know. I will take care of it.” She spread an illusion over Loki's body, covering the blue. It was not his old skin, but it would hold.

Thor came in when they were ready to depart. He looked exhausted, dressed in his most formal armour, Mjolnir tucked into his belt. It was only when Loki saw Gungnir held loosely in one of Thor's hands did Loki realize Thor must be king now. Loki had missed the ceremony.

(It was probably better Loki had not attended. No one wanted frost giants interrupting the same ceremony twice.)

Loki knew Mother would want him to come to the funeral, but he could not understand why Thor approved. Thor had seen Loki in his Jotun skin. Thor _knew_. He may not have harmed Loki, but surely he could see the folly of letting a Jotun at the funeral of the former King of Asgard.

Yet Thor still smiled gently at Loki, and helped Mother lift Loki from the bed and lower him into a mobile chair, one that floated high enough above the ground to accommodate Loki's legs (for even if his legs had not been broken and ankles nearly carved to the bone, Loki was still too weak to walk).

And Thor did not protest as Mother took the handles of the chair,even though Loki could manoeuvre it himself. There was no argument as, together, the three of them made their way to the sea on the edge of Asgard.

At least, no argument made by _Thor_.

All the way down the procession, Loki tried to ignore the stares, the whispers, the scowls. He straightened his back despite the pain, raised his chin and looked ahead. As if he were truly a prince.

Finally, they reached the shore, where the three of them remained on the stone platform next to the dark waters.

Thor stood tall and noble as he ordered Odin's barge to be pushed off into the waters, yet when he glanced up, Loki could see the lines of sorrow etched in his face. Then came the signal, and a flaming arrow set the barge alight. The air became filled with lights, from the arrows, the boats, and the mourning spheres released into the skies.

Loki felt numb.

He felt sick.

He was not a son seeing his father for the last time, he was a killer at his victim's funeral. The son of a monster mourning his true father's enemy.

_ Odin would never bring a frost giant into Asgard, He would never raise it as his son, Jotnar do not belong in the Golden Realm. _

Loki could feel himself shaking. He could not stop.

_ I miss you Father, I miss you, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I wish I was a better son, I wish I was  _ your _ son, I wish I had not hurt you. _

The barge was falling off the edge of Asgard. Mother raised her hands and the boat dissolved into a shower of glittering, ethereal light, spiralling up before disappearing in the star-laden sky.

Loki thought of the first time he remembered showing Father a spell, snapping his clumsy fingers and being delighted as golden light sparked between them. Father had put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, giving Loki a proud smile. He thought of all the times Father had listened to Loki's thoughts on any council meeting when he was young, praising Loki for his quick insight. He thought of when Father had gifted him his first set of throwing knives, right after Loki had hit all the targets dead centre with his practice knives in his lessons.

_I'm sorry, Please don't go, I'm sorry, I'm sorry._

_I miss you._

Loki thought of how after that spark of magic went out, Father had rushed off to help Thor with Thor's training sword. He thought of how the praises became few and far between as Loki grew, no matter how sound Loki thought his advice may be. He thought of when he had come of age, and he had expected something as powerful and unique as Mjolnir had been for Thor, yet the greatest of his gifts had been a better set of throwing knives.

_Please, I'm sorry I disappointed you,_ _I miss you._

( _Why did you take me_ ?)

Loki thought of all the times Father had given preference to Thor, all the times he had forgotten and ignored Loki in favour of something more important. He thought of the times when Father seemed to stop caring about Loki's latest spells or his accomplishments on a quest, while still congratulating Thor over his prowess with a weapon.

Loki thought of all the times Father had spoke of his victory over Jotunheim, yet had not said a word whenever the Jotnar had been called monsters.

_Were my words in Vault the truth_ ?

_Was I only ever a stolen relic to you_ ?

( _I miss you._ )

As he felt tears course down his cheeks, Loki thought of his blue skin and red eyes, black nails and raised markings, all hidden under a carefully crafted illusion. The surge of disgust was so bitter, so  _viscous,_ he thought he would choke on it. All that came out was a strangled gasp, too quiet to be heard over the sounds of gathered crowd and the waves crashing against the shore.

_Was that what you saw every time you looked at me_ ? 

_Was I ever truly your son_ ?

_Did you ever truly love me_ ?

Could _you_ ?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I learned something this week that I thought would be interesting to share. I've been having trouble thinking of a real world comparison for the Jotun-Æsir situation, where one race is extremely reviled but also extremely isolated from the other. Then in my Chaucer class, we talked about _The Prioress' Tale_ from _The Canterbury Tales_. In the original story _The Prioress' Tale_ is based on, a little Christian boy is walking through a Jew ghetto, singing about Mother Mary, then gets killed by Jews. The spirit of Mother Mary then fills the dead little boy and he starts singing or something, and all the Jews convert to Christianity. Very anti-Semitic, but not as bad as _The Prioress' Tale_ , where the little dead boy instead calls for vengeance, and all the Jews in ghetto are slaughtered. Now, all the Jews had to leave England in 13th century ( _The Canterbury Tales_ was written in the 14th century). The Jews were meant to be under the King's protection, but after an incident where many Jews were murdered by a mob, the King realized he couldn't protect them and so kicked them out (which doesn't really sound like the best way to deal with hatred and prejudice, but I'm not a 13th century king). Unlike well-educated and well-travelled people, like Chaucer, the Prioress has likely never been out of England. She has never met a Jew. To quote my professor nearly verbatim, the Prioress does not know that the Jews are _people_ , not monsters.  
> Oh boy, real world racism reflected in fantasy. Although fantasy has a way of making it seem so simple and easy to fix.


	14. Days Ten to Fifteen: Announcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki's body may be healing, but mind still has a ways to go.

Thor hurried towards the Healers' wing, Gungnir clutched awkwardly in one hand. The spear, which had always seemed so powerful in his father's grasp, was unwieldy in his own. For as far back as Thor could remember, Gungnir had always been a symbol for Father, as much as Mjolnir was now a symbol for Thor throughout the realms; to carry it felt as if he was disobeying Father somehow (and that was without the reminder that his father had held it just over a fortnight ago, looking every inch the king he had always been in Thor's memories). Yet Gungnir was a weapon for the king, so wield it Thor must.

Though not necessarily while racing through the halls.

After presiding over several minor disputes among the lower gentry, Thor had not had the time to set the spear down. He had very specifically cleared time after the settlement, scheduling it with the Healers so Loki would be awake. They both had only a very short window before the Healers wished to put Loki under again, and Thor had to talk with the head of the palace staff about food imports, or something equally tedious. And Thor was already late.

Mother had assured Thor that he would not always be so busy. It was simply because he was new to his kingship, and had only Mother to help him. And new kings had to take responsibility, even if Thor had not done anything while the nobles argued other than sit and look regal. New kings could not be seen abandoning their duties to sit at their brothers' sickbeds. “After a few months,” Mother had told him, on Thor's third night of kingship when Thor felt like climbing into bed just after the evening meal, “once you are used to your duties and the nobles recognize your competence, things should start to slow down.”

That did little to help Loki now, however.

It would be the first proper conversation Thor had had with Loki since...well, since Thor decided to go to Jotunheim. Thor did not really want to call the interrogation in the dungeons a “conversation”. And during their father's funeral, neither had felt like saying much.

The rest of Asgard had seemed to have the same reticence, if the words that had followed Loki all the way down to the sea were anything to go by. Thor had worried some of the nobles would be more outspoken about Loki's presence, yet out of respect, the whispers had been discreet. But since Thor had brought Loki to the Healing rooms, he had heard endless cycles of rumours.

The most troublesome one was that the “Jotun runt” had tricked Thor, just as he tricked Frigga, and was planning some nefarious scheme to bring down all of Asgard.

The most popular ones were that Loki had been rescued in secret (usually by Thor, but Sif and the Warriors Three were also favourable candidates), and was then sequestered away, healing from injuries and recovering from his ordeal, only brought out to attend Odin's funeral; or, that Loki had been cursed to look like a Jotun (and Asgard's other sorcerers had somehow failed to notice), which had all been part of a Jotun plot to destabilize the throne.

The rarest one, and the one that was never spoken in anything but furtive, disgusted tones, was that Frigga had been right all along, and Loki truly was Jotun.

And every time one of those whispers reached Thor's ear, it only reminded him of the tasks ahead of him. He had to make several announcements to Asgard, and soon, if he ever hoped to give Loki and Jotunheim peace.

But he had to wait until Loki was better first.

Slipping past a group of young Healers in training, Thor came to the small, separated Healing room, just off the main Healing Halls. Generally, it was only used for those with some sort of communicable disease, but its isolation worked well enough to keep Loki safe.

Thor nodded to Sif and Volstagg, who were currently on duty. His friends were exceedingly generous in agreeing to guard Loki, once he and Mother had managed to convince them of the truth. There had been some doubt at first, suspicion that Thor had let his desire to see Loki home and safe override his discretion. However, his friends could see that Mother was fully in control of her mind, and Thor's retelling of his trick in the dungeons had been enough.

Thor thought part of their offer may have been from guilt. Mostly, though, he believed they wished to ensure Loki came to no more harm. Just as Thor did.

The two nodded back as Thor came closer, Sif giving him a quick smile and Volstagg a congenial pat on the shoulder.

“He has been awake for a short while now,” Volstagg whispered, and nudged Thor inside.

As he entered, the ever-present smell of Healing rooms hit him: the crisp, sharp smell of healing stones and the vaguely sweet smell of sleeping potion, all covering up the iron tinge of blood. The room looked much the same as it had two days ago, though instead of the glow of evening coming in through the wide, high-set windows, the waning sunlight of late afternoon lit up the room. The neatly stocked shelves of healing supplies next to the bed and the cupboard on the far side of the room were just as orderly as before. And in the centre of the room, the same small, white bed and its occupant.

Loki stared at Thor as he entered, red eyes widening. Thor smiled as best he could, slowly walking over to Loki's bedside, absently fumbling Gungnir. Then Loki started shifting, his legs moving under thin blankets and splinted hands kneading at the bed-covers.

It took a moment for Thor to figure out Loki was trying to sit up. He rushed the rest of the way to the bed, leaning Gungnir against the wall next to it.

“Here, let me help,” he said, reaching one hand behind Loki's back, careful to avoid the bandaged areas (which was in fact most of Loki's back), the other hand moving under Loki's healing legs. Once Thor arranged the pillows to carefully support Loki, he drew back and settled into one of the chairs beside the bed.

Though Loki looked better than the day of the funeral, and immensely better than in the dungeons, it still ached to see Loki's broken, torn, and bruised body. The unfamiliar shade of his skin did not help, only making the white of the bandages and dark healing runes stand out more.

Nevertheless, Thor tried for a smile again. He was sure it came out like a grimace. “It is good to see you awake again,” he said, leaning forward on the chair, elbows against his knees.

Loki looked back, face blank. “The Healers say I must go to sleep again soon,” Loki said, tone almost wary. He did not speak with the same smooth cadence as he once did, moving his lips carefully between the scars radiating about his mouth. Their sight sent a pang through Thor's heart. Loki valued his words over all else, perhaps over even his magic, and in the dungeons he was silenced, over and over.

“They did not tell me you were coming,” Loki continued, breaking Thor out of his thoughts. Loki's gaze flitted to Gungnir, leaning incongruously against the white wall. Thor realized Loki had not been officially informed of Thor's kingship.

“We have both been quite busy,” Thor replied. “I apologize for not coming sooner. Since I returned from Midgard, I have had little time for myself. And I missed you at the coronation.” Thor gently laid his hand on Loki's, and watched Loki's smooth expression flicker into one of confusion before returning to its blankness. Even that brief instance of doubt cut Thor to the bone. Apparently Loki still believed as he did in the cell, that Thor would turn him away for his heritage.

Thor would just have to do his best to prove Loki's fears wrong.

Putting his other hand on Loki's shoulder (one of the few places without bandages), Thor looked into Loki's eyes, refusing to let the strangeness of the red unsettle him. “The throne room nearly felt empty without you in it. Mother conducted the ceremony, and there was no one to look at me disapprovingly or tease me about my helmet.” Thor grinned, and was relieved to see Loki's lips twitch.

However, the twitch did not develop into a smile, and when it disappeared, Thor watched with dismay as Loki's face grew even more somber.

Not about to give up, Thor kept going. “And I could have used your silver tongue with the council. They were still convinced Mother was mad, and it took myself and her arguing for _hours_ before we made any headway. I believe they were only convinced once Heimdall sent down a message from the Bifrost, informing them that they were all foolish and Mother had been right since day one. By then it was nearly time to retire for the day. I am sure if you had been there, brother, it would have taken but minutes to persuade them of the truth.” A truth that had left them appalled and angry, and Thor and Mother had been forced to order their silence for the moment. Yet at least they knew Loki was _Loki_.

Thor smiled and squeezed Loki's shoulder as hard as he dared, but Loki only turned his head away, withdrawing his hand from under Thor's and curling it close to his side.

“You would still call me brother?” he said quietly, and Thor jolted upright, his hand slipping from Loki's shoulder and feeling as though something hard and cold had clamped around his midsection. It was as if he was once again in the dungeon, hearing Loki's hopeless voice from between mangled lips. “After what you know of frost giants? After what you wanted to do to them? When you wanted to ' _finish them off'_?”

What hurt most was that Loki's voice was not bitter, as Járnsaxa's or Helblindi's might have been, but instead full of desperation and utter confusion. As if he truly did not understand why Thor cared.

Flooded by guilt and a pain so sharp it hurt to breathe, Thor drew forward in the chair, though Loki did not look his way. “Loki, I – I remember what I said, but I was wrong to say it. Things have changed since I've been to Midgard. I haven't the time to tell you the whole tale, but I know what I – what we both knew of the Jotnar was _wrong_.”

Thor wished to tell Loki of Helblindi, of how patient Loki's kin had been up until Sif and Fandral's outburst. How driven the Jotun prince had seemed to be, doing his best for Jotunheim, even willing to explain his people's trouble to _Thor_. How, despite being raised in an entirely different realm, Helblindi was still so very much like Loki.

Yet Thor did not. Because, as Mother had agreed, why tell Loki of a brother that may be content with Laufey's decision to leave Loki to die? Why raise Loki's hopes of meeting one of his own kind, one of his own _family_ , if Helblindi wanted nothing to do with Loki? It could tarnish Loki's opinion of the Jotnar further (although if Helblindi thought Loki would have been better off left to die, Thor might find himself agreeing with Loki).

It was true that, from all Thor had seen of Helblindi, the Jotun did not seem one for unnecessary cruelty. Still, Thor did not know Helblindi's mind. He did not even know if Helblindi was aware Laufey _had_ another son.

All the more reason to deal with Jotunheim as soon as he could.

“What I said as I freed you is true,” Thor said, mustering every ounce of conviction in his voice. “The Jotnar are _not_ monsters, brother–”

“ _Look at me_!” Loki screamed, rounding on Thor with tears streaming down his face. “I'm not your _brother_. I'm not even _Ás_. I'm no more your brother than a dwarf, or an elf, or-or a _beast_ , or–” He cut off with a choked sound, and brought a hand up to his lips. Thor noticed a dark smear of blood against blue skin; some of his wounds had torn from his outburst.

“Loki,” Thor said softly. Loki did not respond, keeping his hand pressed against his mouth.

Reaching over to the healing shelves, Thor grabbed a clean bandage, then gently pressed it into Loki's bloody hand and against the re-opened skin. With his free hand, Thor cradled the back of Loki's neck and Loki instinctively met Thor's eyes. “You _are_ my brother,” Thor insisted, feeling a knot of love and grief welling up in his chest so strong it threatened to choke him. “We grew up together, as brothers. I have always loved as a brother. _Nothing_ could ever change that. And if I had known you were a Jotun, I never would have believed they could be monstrous.”

Loki stared back, eyes searching Thor's as if looking for a lie. As if he wanted to believe Thor, with every inch of his being until it _hurt_.

Which was when Healers Synnove and Maija rushed in, brought by the noise, and behind Thor someone cleared their throat.

Thor turned to see Volstagg, looking rather embarrassed. Scuffing his feet and very pointedly not staring at Loki, Volstagg said, “Thor, there is a page boy here. He says you have a meeting to attend.”

“And our patient needs his rest,” Healer Maija said disapprovingly, grabbing Thor by the elbow.

Taking the Healer's cue, Thor let himself be propelled to his feet, though he did not take his eyes from Loki. “I will speak to you later, I promise.” _When_ he would have time again, enough to tell him everything he had learned from Helblindi and Járnsaxa, Thor did not know. But he would make time.

Loki nodded slowly, staring at Thor with the same mixture of pain and confusion and _want_ , and let Healer Synnove take the bloody bandage from his hand. Then Healer Maija was steering Thor towards the door.

“Yes, _later_ , my King,” she asserted. “ And next time, do not let my patient re-injure himself.”

She let Thor walk the rest of the way out into the hall by himself. He took one last look at Loki, who was being carefully lowered onto his back by Healer Synnove, his eyes half closed and body limp.

With a nod to Sif and Volstagg, Thor followed an incredibly nervous page boy (whom Sif had kept well back from the doorway) down the corridor. For now, Thor had to deal with the glories of being a king, and learning the intricacies of feeding a population.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The healers started to let Loki spend more and more time awake. Each time he awoke, some new pain had eased, something once twisted or broken felt as thought it had been set right.

There was one ache Loki remembered after Healer Synnove had placed her hands on the sides of his head and sent a probing spell through his mind, checking for lesions. Satisfied that nothing was physically harmed, she had left, giving him with a glass of water and orders to drink. When Loki was sure she was gone, and Hogun and Volstagg at the door were not paying him any attention, Loki closed his eyes and looked for the part of his mind the guards had tried to close off. Once he found that soothing cold, Loki opened his eyes and  _ flexed _ .

The glass in his hand froze instantly. Loki dropped it, shocked, and it shattered against the floor. The cold part of his mind slipped away, leaving him with ice-covered blankets and Healers Maija and Synnove rushing towards him in alarm.

They did not seem to believe his answer that he was merely practising the extent of his weakened magic and had miscalculated, but did not press him. The truth was not exactly hidden anyway; the only thing more obvious than a Jotun covered in ice would be an Eldjotun covered in fire.

It was two days after Thor's surprise visit that Loki was allowed to leave the Healing rooms.

Loki still did not know what to think of Thor's words.

Thor had sounded so _sure_ in his conviction, willingly touching Loki's cold, blue skin as if it did not bother him. He had met Loki's red eyes without flinching. He still saw Loki as a brother, and Loki still did not understand _why_. What had changed his mind? What had happened to the blood-lust the day of his coronation, the anger against the monsters and cowards of Jotunheim?

Whatever Thor's feelings towards the Jotnar may be, he did not have the time to attend Loki as he left. Once again, Mother came by, helping Loki dress and covering him with another illusion. He was carried into the mobile chair, given copious instructions on what he could and could not yet do, told what potions to drink, and informed of which salves to rub into his skin. Then for the second time since being freed, Loki was out of the Healing rooms.

Sif and the Warriors Three escorted him and Mother through the halls to Mother's rooms (“For your safety,” she had said, and Loki had argued  _ what of her safety _ , but Mother was having none of it. Loki in his rooms alone may be vulnerable, but Frigga, Queen Mother of Asgard, would be considered untouchable by all but the most foolhardy of citizens). Loki was curious about Sif and the Warriors Three as well. So far, they had acted just as contrarily as Thor had, and with just as little explanation.

(Maybe they were just following Thor, as always. Even to the point where they would accept monsters as friends.)

Whenever Loki thought of asking them  _ why _ , in his head the question always seemed to sound like  _ why did you not kill me _ . And while Loki knew he could ask that of Thor, in front of Sif and the Warriors Three it sounded far too pathetic for Loki's taste.

(As if Loki didn't look pathetic enough.)

They did not say a word as they walked down the halls, the escort enough to keep prying eyes away, and whispers only whispers. Loki felt as if he would sag in relief once they reached Mother's rooms, but stayed upright as Sif and the Three took their leave. Then he was through the ornate, golden doors and cut off from the suspicious stares.

Freedom from the Healing rooms also meant he could finally return to his Ás ( _false_ ) skin. Once Mother had helped him onto the small bed she had had set up in her sitting room, together he and Mother set about weaving the glamour, recreating the spells Father had set into Loki's flesh when he was a babe. Loki was surprised at how much shifted in his body once the glamour was back in place, as well as the little details he had not noticed before. How the room was slightly dimmer, the air minutely cooler.

He stared at the pale pink of his hands, the flesh smooth instead of raised, the nails clear. The question was out of his mouth before Loki had time to think.

“Why did Father take it away?”

Mother jumped, turning from where she was rearranging his healing potions. “Pardon?”

Loki felt tears in his eyes. He blinked them away. “When he died, why did Father take his protection away? The glamour?” His voice came out much more desperate than he had intended. “Did he not mean for it to stay, once he was gone?”

“Oh, Loki, no, don't think that,” Mother exclaimed, rushing to his side. She crouched so he did not have to look up at her and put a hand on his arm. “It was the Casket, Loki. It interfered with Odin's spell, weakening the glamour enough to fall when he was no longer there to maintain it.”

“Why did it fail in the first place?” Loki heard his voice break, but he could not stop the questions from tumbling out. “Why did he not make it permanent? Why would he _let_ this happen?”

“I do not know,” Mother answered, her lips set in a grim line for a moment, then she softened as she drew him in for hug. “But know this, Loki,” she said firmly, “your father would  _ never _ have wanted this to happen to you. He would never want to see you hurt.”

Loki nodded, as if he had understood, as if he  _ believed _ , and let Mother comfort him.

If Father had not wished Loki to be hurt, he would never have brought a Jotun to Asgard in the first place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Mother told him hastily the morning of the next day, before rushing off to help Thor with some ambassadors from Vanaheim, it was time for Thor's official announcement to the kingdom about Loki's heritage. Loki knew it had to happen somehow. If not the truth, then another lie, one that would be ever poked and prodded at, met by suspicion and mistrust at every turn.

The knowledge did not settle the sickness in the pit of Loki's stomach, nor the way his hands shook slightly unless he clenched them in his lap.

Thor sat on the Hliðskjálf, with Loki and Mother in hastily fashioned chairs at either side. Normally they would stand, and Loki was strong enough to do so now, but Thor insisted Loki should not risk a fall. On a short plinth in front of the throne sat the Casket of Ancient Winters, and beyond the steps leading to the Hliðskjálf were gathered the nobles, warriors, and all other important citizens of Asgard.

If Loki had thought Thor had looked like a king before his first coronation, it was nothing compared to now. Thor exuded confidence, not the childish arrogance of before. There were no boyish grins thrown about, no bold winks at the crowd. His poise and demeanour demanded respect, though only if it was earned. When some of his noble or warrior friends tried to catch his eye (after giving Loki a wary look), all Thor graced them with was a polite nod. Then his eyes would roam elsewhere, taking in all his subjects. His handling of Gungnir and Mjolnir spoke of pride, but not of an ego over-inflated by too many tales of his greatness and power. No throwing his hammer (or spear) about, flashing signs of his prowess in their faces, no demanding of cheers for his presence.

It was true what Thor had said. Thor _had_ changed.

Whatever had happened on Midgard had made Thor a better man.

(Whatever had happened on Midgard had made Thor decide not to kill his Jotun false-brother.)

Thor stood and tapped Gungnir on the ground. The sound echoed throughout the room, bringing a silence in its wake.

“People of Asgard,” Thor started, gazing around the room, “there has been a great deal of change in the past two weeks. My Father, King Odin, has passed on to Valhalla's halls due to the great burden of replenishing Asgard's strength.” A cheer went up to hear of Odin in Valhalla, rewarded for his long life as warrior, king, and protector.

Thor waited for the noise to die down. “I was sent to Midgard to learn from my folly of starting a war with Jotunheim, and there I learnt both of the strength of the humans there–” Another, smaller cheer from the few who had been to Midgard, which Thor waited through, before continuing gravely, “–and of the plight of the people of Jotunheim.”

This time the only noise was confused chatter. Loki felt like joining in. Mother had only had time to run through the last part of his speech with Loki, and this was the first he had heard of Thor learning anything new about Jotunheim. And how did he hear of it on  _ Midgard _ ?

Thor ignored the noise. “To forge a new peace between our peoples, I have offered to negotiate with them. A council will be created to handle the grants Asgard will be willing to give. Asgard will open Jotunheim's borders, and trade and talks between the realms shall begin.”

This time there was silence. The people were too shocked to talk.

“I felt it necessary, as our people have spent much too long apart. The war and separation has bred a hatred which harmed both my mother, Queen Frigga,” a nod in her direction, “and my brother, Prince Loki,” and now a nod at him. As the stares settled on him, Loki put on the emotionless mask he had perfected as a child and looked only at Thor. _This_ part of the speech Loki knew, and the stares would only worsen.

“What Queen Mother Frigga has been insisting since Prince Loki's incarceration is true: Prince Loki is a Jotun: the son of King Laufey, brought to Asgard by King Odin at the end of the war.” This was Loki's cue. He stood carefully and walked towards Thor, where he stood by the plinth. As he looked out over the people Loki kept his face neutral, despite the angry mutterings overtaking the crowd.

Thor again ignored them. “Prince Loki has grown up among us, as one of us. As my brother, and as my parents' son, and has shown that the Jotnar are not the monsters of tall tales, but people just like us.”

_ Just like us _ , what an absurd notion. Loki had never been  _ like _ them, and they  _ knew _ it. Yet Loki knew what came next. He reached out with his fragile and somewhat crooked fingers and wrapped his hands around the sides of the Casket. He heard the gasps and shouts of outrage as the blue crawled up his arms and bled into his face. Slowly, Loki looked up, allowing the crowd a view of his crimson eyes.

Thor put one hand on Loki's shoulder and let out his brilliant smile, holding Gungnir aloft. “From this day forth, we shall be united with the people of Jotunheim, bringing in a new era of peace for Yggdrasil!”

Asgard knew what was expected of them. The people in the hall clapped and cheered, as if they were pleased. Or, at least most of them did. Some of the crowd seemed unable to bring themselves to applaud the monstrosity before their eyes.

Looking out over those faces, their anger, their shock, their disgust, the way the warriors clutched their weapons and how those without even a knife shifted closer to those with one, the realization hit Loki in a way that escaped him before. This revelation to Asgard changed _nothing_ about the need for protection, about the need for so few healers, the lack of servants, Sif and the Warriors Three as guards.

Loki was not safe.

And Loki was afraid.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should be noted that I have no idea how long it takes Æsir to heal. Some fics have it happen instantly, some a bit slower. In Agents of Shield, that one Ás stabbed through the heart healed in a few minutes with Coulson holding the wound closed, but Frigga seemed to drop dead almost instantly (although we can put that down to ~~fridging~~ dark elf blades). In the first movie, both Volstagg and Fandral had bandages on their wounds a few hours/half a day after they went to Jotunheim. So since there really seems to be no real time-line for Æsir/Jotnar healing, I'm making up my own.  
>  Also, Eldjotnar are fire giants, in case anyone was wondering.


	15. Days Fifteen to Twenty: Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor attempts to persuade Asgard and Loki that Jotunheim is not full of monsters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, this chapter was pretty much pulled out by my teeth. It went through nearly as many rewrites as the Thor 2 script. Just kidding, if I had changed the story that much, Odin would have secretly been alive the whole time, Loki would be right as rain by the middle of the chapter, and Thor would have absconded to Midgard with Jane.

After Thor's announcement, he ordered the original members of the council, excluding Sif and the Warriors Three, to produce a public apology to Frigga for locking her in her rooms. She stood beside her sons as the councillors knelt, one by one, and expressed their remorse. For the most part, they seemed sincere, and she accepted their admissions with as much grace as she could.

Some of her anger still smouldered under her calm, but she knew there was little to be done; though it was an insult to be believed mad by the council, some of whose members had known her for centuries, they had believed they were working in the best interests of the kingdom. And if Thor removed them from their positions, so soon after his crowning and moments after his proclamation concerning Jotunheim, there could be unrest among the nobles. So she contented herself by listening as Thor pronounced their guilt, and as they echoed it.

Then Thor ordered an apology to Loki. Her youngest stood straight and proud, as if he had not only started walking again a day ago, as if he had not panicked just before the ceremony and told her that he could not, he _could not_ stand in front of Asgard in his Jotun skin. She had held him as he calmed down, murmuring words of reassurance that both knew to be a lie.

Of those that spoke, only Tyr, Freya, and perhaps Frey seemed to have any sincerity in their apologies for the cruelties Loki endured. Frigga knew Tyr had a fondness for Loki, and Freya liked him for his prowess with magic, and had even taught him a few spells herself; Frey was likely following his sister's lead. The rest of the council members were as unconvincing and sarcastic as they could manage under Thor's scrutiny. Frigga felt her ire rising, yet there was nothing she could do except give the Lords and Ladies a cold glare.

They avoided her gaze.

Loki accepted their apologies with a polite mask. Once the ceremony was over, he exited as soon as was proper for a prince.

After that, he avoided showing his face in public.

All Loki's necessary possessions had been moved to Frigga's rooms and he set up make-shift quarters in the sitting room, and also claimed use of Frigga's and Odin's private library. Most of the relocation Frigga did herself, despite Loki's protests that he would be fine with the short trip between their quarters.

Both of them knew how useless Loki's arguments were. It was a risk for Loki to even step outside of her rooms. Frigga only hoped that her status as Queen, and the love and respect she knew the people of Asgard held for her, would hold them from any attack.

Of course, that protection would only last as long as Loki remained in her rooms, and Loki could not hide away forever. Once Loki was well enough to leave, once his bones were less brittle and his gait less unsteady, once he could rely on his body as well as his mind, Frigga knew he would wish to return to his own rooms. Even if it was not safe.

Frigga would just have to do her best to _make_ Asgard safe for him.

But for now, whenever Frigga saw Loki leave her rooms, he usually used magic to travel unseen, or sometimes in a different form. If she asked where he went, he would be vague, answering only “The library” or “Outside the palace”. If he stayed in her rooms, she normally caught him reading. Or staring at a book with eyes glazed over, until Frigga interrupted him from whatever thoughts were consuming his mind.

She only wished she had more time to accompany Loki. In fact, she rarely had time to speak with him. Her kingdom, and Thor, needed her.

After his swift coronation, Thor barely had any time to rest, and Frigga was just as busy, smoothing over his transition or helping him in matters where Thor had little experience. Those matters were generally the ones that Loki had been meant to take over, dealing with consulates, diplomats, and the like. Now Frigga was sure they would rather execute Loki than listen to him.

Neither she nor Thor were entirely free of Asgard's prejudice, either. For the most part, Frigga's role in the deception could be forgotten. However, she sometimes caught an edge of resentment in someone's tone as they took an order from her. At times, she noticed looks of disgust and betrayal, whispers in the halls that asked, _How could she have held that creature to her bosom? How could she have loved a monster?_ Of course, none were so bold as to say this to her face.

Thor, by virtue of his ignorance in the whole matter until recently, encountered little resentment. Yet whenever Thor brought up his plans for Jotunheim, he was always met with incredulity and thinly-veiled scorn. Even so, Thor, with his obstinacy and unflinching sense of fairness, would push on regardless of any scepticism, or the rumours that he had been ensorcelled by “that runt sorcerer”.

Thor would have received less animosity if he did not bring up his plans for Jotunheim whenever he had the time. He started by meeting with architects' and labourers' guilds, searching for workers who would be willing to expand one of the palace's outer buildings into suitable quarters for the Jotnar diplomats. They needed a building that was close enough to the Bifrost so the Jotnar would not have to walk through many of Asgard's streets, but close enough to the centre of the palace to not offend the Jotnar. Thor also needed labourers who would not deliberately sabotage the expansion if they knew who it was for.

Frigga was proud of how much effort Thor was putting into this project, even if the only willing guild Thor found was one that would do it partially out of loyalty, and partially out of the enormous payment they would receive if the job was done well.

Aside from negotiating with laymen, Thor and Frigga also had to deal with the council. They met with them every day, rather than once a week as usual, and each time Thor tried to convince the council to give into enough of the Jotnar's demands to make a meeting with the Jotnar viable. Her son had decided he would not meet with Helblindi only to have Asgard's councillors argue over every minute detail for weeks on end. As seemed to be happening in every meeting.

Frigga hoped the Lords Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg were more successful working through the animosity towards the Jotnar in Vanaheim, though she sincerely doubted it. They had been sent to the homeland of Hogun, and once, of Frigga, to propose a possible trade with the frost giants. Although Vanaheim was under the rule of Asgard, it had a different council. In order to ensure the continued peace of Vanaheim's people, any proposal had to be put through their council first.

So far, the only messages she received had reported a similar attitude to that of the people on Asgard: hostility, displeasure, and disbelief.

Even Tyr and Freya, who had expressed sympathy for Loki, did not seem to extend their goodwill to the rest of the Jotnar. After the first meeting, where Thor had brought up merchants and trading and had been interrupted at nearly every turn, Lord Tyr approached Frigga just outside the meeting hall.

“My Queen,” he said, coming alongside her and bowing his head. “I apologize deeply for the pain your son went through, and for my treatment of him in the dungeons. Is he doing better now?”

Frigga smiled, genuine happiness seeping through her exhaustion from the day. “Yes, he is healing well. Your concern is most welcome.” Especially seeing as he had been the only one to express any.

Tyr nodded, his grizzled face relaxing in some modicum of relief. “That is good to hear. You and the Allfather raised that boy well.” Frigga felt warmth blooming in her chest, for she knew there were very few that held the same opinion. She dipped her head in acknowledgement, and Tyr gave a small smile, before his face grew more serious. “But surely, my Queen, simply because he turned out well does not mean you should expect all of Jotunheim to fall into line behind him.”

Frigga fought to keep her smile in place as Tyr continued on, oblivious. “They simply did not have your and the Allfather's guidance. Maybe in a few generations, with our help, we could expect a proper alliance with the Jotnar. But to work with them now would be folly.”

Hands clenching into very discreet fists behind her skirt, Frigga gave her best diplomatic nod. “Your words have been taken into consideration, Lord Tyr, but I am afraid we do not see eye to eye in this matter.”

She turned on her heel and left, hands shaking in anger. She wondered how many on the council, how many in _Asgard_ , believed Loki was decent enough for a Jotun simply because he was not raised one.

But no one else came up to her to speak privately about either Loki or the Jotnar, except for Sif.

She was the only one of the council who agreed with Thor. Unlike the Warriors Three, she had retained her position after Thor's return, and staunchly supported Thor's plans in the council as vigorously as when she fought by his side on the battlefield.

After one of the more stressful meetings, where insults against the Jotnar had been muttered under breaths and hinted at in snide words until Frigga wished to throw one of the council members off the nearest balcony, Sif came up to her and Thor before they departed.

“Thor, Queen Frigga,” she greeted. “I-I would like to say that I – and Hogun, Volstagg, and Fandral – we are all sorry for the part we played in Loki's confinement. We-we thought he was a – or rather, was not–” She gestured helplessly, trying to signal both _Jotun_ and _himself_ in a wave of her hands.

Frigga put her hand on Sif's arm, giving the warrior maiden a soft smile. “I understand. And you are forgiven.” She would not let Sif tear herself to pieces over this, if it could be helped. “You did not know. You thought Loki had been harmed, and you only acted as a friend would in such...unexpected circumstances.”

“I fear what I would have done to him,” Thor added solemnly, coming to Frigga's other side, “if I had been in your place. I – he may not have survived.” He looked down, guilty for a future that thankfully had never come to pass.

Frigga sighed and placed her other hand on Thor's shoulder, bringing his and Sif's attention back to her. “Neither of you are at fault. Odin and I kept it secret. For Loki's benefit, we believed. Though it may have caused more harm than it avoided. What matters now, though, is that we help curb this hatred, so none of this need happen again.”

Some of the guilt smoothed from their faces, and Sif bowed to Thor and Frigga before leaving. Probably to the sparring fields to work off some of her tension.

Frigga wished she could join her, but she had to speak to diplomats from Alfheim. Then look into a complaint from the southern farmlands about taxation. Then more meetings, complaints, records, and proposals: A queen's duties, when no one else could carry them out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The third evening after Thor's announcement to Asgard, both Mother and Thor had enough time to sit with Loki in his makeshift quarters. Thor told him of his adventures on Midgard, seeming excited to finally regale Loki with the tale.

Loki listened curiously to Thor's passion for the Midgardians, the friends he found in two of their scholars and a student, as well as the dedication and understanding of their warriors. It seemed Midgard had advanced while Asgard sat on high, though Midgard was still nowhere near Asgard's level of understanding. It was also amusing to hear the affection Thor held for the young female scholar, an unusual choice for Thor (Loki knew he normally went for warriors or court ladies rather than scholars).

Then Thor began to speak of the Jotnar, and Mother told them of her beseeching letters sent to Jotunheim.

“Our people have fallen out of touch with Jotunheim,” Mother began. “Long ago, our people had more relations with them, and neither bore the other such hatred. I believed the Jotnar would prefer the peace and prosperity they once had, so I convinced them to send down a delegation to speak with Thor.” Mother nodded in Thor's direction. “I knew if there was to be any hope of keeping the peace and freeing you, then Thor would have to restore himself through righting his mistakes.” She gave Loki's shoulder a squeeze as she stared fondly at Thor.

Thor gave her a smile back. “And I am glad you thought so, Mother.” He turned to Loki, eyes bright and voice earnest. “I would not have learned the truth about the Jotnar otherwise. The two that came to bargain with me were no more monstrous than Sif, or Volstagg, or Tyr. They were warriors and diplomats, both.

“One, I believe you would have liked,” Thor said, sitting back with an odd, sad smile. “He took control of the negotiations, telling me of every detail of trade he would need for Jotunheim. Like you, he had a perfect face for negotiations, utterly calm and collected.”

Though Thor seemed pleased at the comparison, Loki did not think it was cause for celebration. One Jotun being similar to another was not exactly a surprise.

But Loki was careful not to let his doubt show as Thor carried on, seemingly eager to speak about this one Jotun. “But when one of us, in our disregard for their race, did grave insult to him or his people, he did not allow for our ignorance to continue. He is intelligent, and resolute in helping his people with as little bloodshed as possible.”

Loki nearly jerked in surprise. He had never heard Thor say a method with “little bloodshed” was _praiseworthy_ , never seen him with such reverence in his eyes as he said those words. A reverence that was upheld as Thor said, “He would not deal with us unless he was assured of our aid.”

So the Jotun was intelligent, a good negotiator, and avoided combat.

Or one could say cunning, shrewd, and cowardly. One could say the Jotun had a silver tongue, or that he could trick his opponent into a deal that suited his side best, or would take the option that did not lead to a glorious and worthy battle.

Like Loki.

Not many on Asgard would consider that a compliment.

“The other was a warrior; a war commander, in fact.” Thor spoke again, and Loki pulled himself out of his spiralling thoughts. Thor's face had turned somewhat grim, but his words were filled with no less admiration. “She had no such talent for words, nor patience for wrongs done without remorse. She was more uncouth in correcting us of our ignorance than her companion.” Thor looked down at his hands on his lap, the small smile returning for an instant. “I believe she would be much like Sif or myself, in that regard.”

_That_ caught Loki's attention. _Thor_ , likening himself and one of his closest friends to a _Jotun_?

The Thor from _before_ would have challenged any who dared make that comparison to a _hólmgang._ Yet Loki could  see the utter sincerity in Thor's eyes, and Loki knew Thor believed his words.

Suddenly something _ached_ in Loki's chest, something painful and bright. And Loki realized it was hope. Agonizing, _needy_ hope.

Hope that Thor, with his inability to see through any deception, with his unflinching trust in those he had deemed worthy, with his damned impulsive heart that could be opened to anyone, was _right_ about the Jotnar. And Asgard was wrong.

It was a fool's hope. But it burned bright all the same.

As Loki struggled to keep his face blank, to keep this hope and hurt from showing, Thor's own face grew somber.

“The Jotnar, they told me–” Thor's breath hitched and he looked away, in what seemed like shame. “–The war commander told me of their dead. I had been sent to Midgard to learn from my mistakes, and I had not even thought of the lives I took.” Thor took a deep breath and looked up at Loki. His eyes, to Loki's shock, were gleaming with tears. “I – I killed her husband, and I know not which one of their number he was. I killed their people without care, and Loki, they have _families_ , they are _people_ , not beasts. And I tore them apart.”

He looked down at his hands, as if they had done the tearing by themselves. Mother grabbed one of them gently, her other hand stroking his arm. “Oh Thor, you cannot dwell on past misdeeds,” she said. “You can best aid them by helping them heal, not by stewing in guilt.”

Thor nodded jerkily, then looked up at Loki. The tears had overflowed, and Loki felt too stunned to move. “If Laufey had kept you among their number, if you had grown up among them, if you had been against me in battle...I would have slaughtered you with as little thought as I did them.”

Looking into those bright blue eyes, Loki saw Thor's reasoning as clear as the heart Thor always wore on his sleeve.

Thor blamed himself. For the Jotnar's deaths, for Loki's pain, for everything.

But Loki had started it all first.

And it was hard to breathe past his own guilt blooming in his chest.

“I, and Asgard, have been wrong about the Jotnar,” Thor said softly. “Because of my hatred, I harmed Jotunheim and her people.” Thor cupped Loki's neck, his eyes shining with not just tears but regret, and what Loki thought was love (even if Loki did not deserve it). “And I harmed you, brother, because of my mindless words against them in the past.”

Loki held Thor's gaze for a few moments, schooling his face into blankness, but he could not keep looking into those eyes when they were so full of the _wrong_ emotions. He glanced over to the side, turning his face away from Thor and Mother.

He did not want to tell them. How would they _look_ at him if he told them the truth?

But what if they found it out later, and cast Loki aside because of his dishonesty?

In a quiet rush of breath, Loki said, “I brought the Jotnar into Asgard.”

“What?” Frigga gasped.

Thor dropped his hand away, as if he had been burnt (as if he had been _betrayed_ ). The hurt was plain in Thor's voice when he asked, “ _Why_?”

Loki snapped his head towards them, speech full of unshed tears as he tried to explain. “We were never meant to make it past Heimdall, we were never meant to set off a _war_ , it was just to show that Thor was _not ready_ , for Father to–” Loki choked on the words. Father could not do anything now. Loki dropped his head and tried again. “I let them in, and put the idea in Thor's head, and I _started_ this, and then I–”

_And then I killed Father, I killed him, it was my fault_ , but those words would not come. It was as if he was in the dungeons and the guards were asking him and asking him, _How did you kill Father_? But Loki would not (could not) make a sound.

For a moment, no one spoke, and Loki could not bear to look up. To see the anger in their eyes, the betrayal. To see them realize he was nothing but a _lying_ , _heartless_ –

“Loki, no,” Mother said at last, leaning forward and raising Loki's chin so he would look her in the eye, and Loki thought he would drown in the affection in that gaze. “All of this was not your fault. It is not the fault of _one_.”

Thor recovered from his shock and said firmly, “It was _my_ choice to go to Jotunheim, Loki. If first you encouraged me, you then cautioned me against it. _And_ Sif, and Fandral, and Heimdall, they all told me of the quest's folly. Yet I still decided to go. I decided to start the attack, and to continue it while the five of you retreated.” Thor shook his head, as guilt flashed across his face, and placed his hand back on Loki's neck. “You were right that I was unprepared for the throne, but I have learned. We can both learn from our mistakes, Loki.”

Loki wanted to believe him. But Loki was not Thor. Everyone knew that Thor was always better, that he _could_ be better. Even _Loki_ had seen that capacity to change.

Thor and Mother were the only ones who saw the same in Loki.

Some of his doubt must have shown, for Mother assured, “You will not be punished, Loki. There has-” She broke off with an upset sound, then took a steadying breath. “You have been through too much for that. All I ask is that you tell us _how_.”

Loki could tell them that. Mother and Thor deserved _this_ truth, more than the guards in the dungeons, who would ask those same questions as they sliced into him and flayed the skin from his bones and tore his–

Loki wrenched his mind away from those memories. Both Mother and Thor were looking at him worriedly. Feeling nails digging into his palms, Loki realized he had clenched his fists and his breaths had quickened into harsh pants.

Loosening his hands, he struggled to control his breathing as he said hurriedly, “There are ways into Asgard. Without using the Bifrost. The only ones who know about it, other than me, are the ones who entered the vault.” Which was true, though not the full extent of Loki's knowledge. Yggdrasil had holes and paths that could be accessed by more means than what the physical realm had to offer. However, he had _never_ shared with anyone _those_ secrets, for they were far too precious to spread about. In a quieter voice he added, “I did not–I was not thinking beyond that.”

Mother and Thor shared a look, one filled with pity, reluctance, and dismay. Thor was the first to speak. “Thank-you, Loki.” The hand on the back of his neck squeezed. “At least this means I do not have to worry that our enemies know other routes into Asgard.” Thor tried to smile, but it was flimsy at best. Loki knew the only reason Thor was not _furious_ , the only reason he and Mother did not lock Loki away, was because of what had been done to Loki.

The thought sent a spike of anger through his chest. They would see him as weak, _vulnerable_ , for his trials (no matter that the memory of them sent his mind into a panic).

Then the anger dissolved into shame, for wasn't this simply another way of trying to protect him? What else had they been doing all this while, but defending him?

“I'm sorry,” Loki murmured, not entirely sure which of his crimes he was apologizing for. They were a great many to choose from.

To his surprise, Mother gave him a quick smile and smoothed a hand over his arm. “I think, in a way, we all are.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

After Loki's worrying confessions, Frigga could tell something else was running through his mind, something she could not even begin to guess at. Loki could inadvertently turn the simplest concept into a complicated snarl, and at times Frigga had not the slightest idea how to untangle it. Especially if Loki refused to speak of it.

She and Thor talked about the second entrance in Asgard Loki had described for them. Thor promised to have it investigated, to see if there was any feasible way it could be destroyed or defended.

They decided not to pressure Loki further about the infiltration into Asgard, other than have him agree for a payment of weregild to the families of the deceased guards. Otherwise, Loki might see it as an attack. Apart from Sif and the healers, who as far as Frigga knew had not seen Loki since his relocation, Thor and Frigga seemed to be the only people on Asgard concerned with his safety. They did not wish to rid Loki of his only refuge.

And changing his situation would mean changing Asgard, which would take time.

A change that Frigga knew she should have dealt with sooner.

Before she had come to hold Loki in her arms, Frigga had not given too much thought towards the Jotnar and the hatred that existed within Asgard. But from the time her youngest came to her household, she had been more careful. Or at least, she thought she had been.

She had not let the boys call the Jotnar “monsters”. She remembered telling them, the first time she heard the words fall from Thor's lips, that the Jotnar were not monsters. When she did not hear it from them again, she had thought they had listened. Until one day at a feast when her boys were nearly young men, Thor had made a toast to a man for fighting against those “monsters” long ago. The whole table, Loki included, had followed suit. And she realized they had only learned not to say it in her presence, since the rest of Asgard allowed for the hatred to burgeon.

That was also the day she began arguing with Odin once more about both revealing the truth to Loki, and about the treatment of the Jotnar. She and Odin had first discussed it when he brought Loki home, but Odin had claimed it would seem strange for the Allfather to suddenly proclaim their enemies friends. So she had waited.

And waited.

She had waited until it was too late, as Odin had argued. It was too late to change anyone's opinions, and it was too late to tell Loki. The boys were too set in their ways, Asgard would not accept it, and if Loki never found out there would be no reason to tell.

Frigga knew her husband had made many follies over his long years, but she thought this was among the worst.

She thought it was one of her worst as well, for listening and agreeing. Grudgingly and reluctantly, but still agreeing.

Perhaps now, she could rectify some of her mistakes.

During a free afternoon two days later, Frigga uncovered the oldest books she could find on the Jotnar. These ones were untouched by the hatred that had coursed through Asgard in the last few millennia.

When she returned with them to her rooms that evening, Loki was surprised to see the books, though once he learned of their purpose he looked both pleased and anxious.

To start him off, Frigga gave him the book of Jotun children's tales, which she herself had read when Odin had brought Loki home. She had told a few of them to Loki and Thor, when she had had the time. Frigga hoped the familiarity would help him understand there was not as much difference between the two races as Asgard liked to believe.

Seeing his features light up as he recognized one of the stories, the small smile tugging at the remnants of the scars on his lips, Frigga felt an ache in her heart. Most of the scars were gone, as Loki's body was well on the way to healing, but still many effects of the torture remained.

Other than his lips, both his wrists and ankles were pockmarked and fragile, and some lingering effects of the poisons made ingesting certain foods and drinks difficult. While his bones had mostly healed from the breaks and the acids that had been dripped on them, she knew Loki hated that he could not be as confident in his steps as before. Frigga was sure there were more pains Loki was not telling her about, but Healer Eir told her most of the injuries would be gone in another two weeks.

But not all could be healed by potion and healing stone. Underneath Loki's eyes were dark circles from constantly-interrupted sleep; he had not had a night without a nightmare yet. Every night, Frigga had done her best to soothe him back to sleep, but she thought half the time he only pretended to doze off until she left his bedside. Those nights, she thought she could hear the door to her quarters opening as Loki slipped outside, invisible.

If he did slip out, he was back before Frigga rose for the morning. Whether he had managed to sleep once again, she knew not.

Seeing the dark shadows on Loki's face as his eyes skimmed over pages, Frigga thought it likely he did not.

When Loki was comfortable with his book, and Frigga was left with no duties for the rest of the evening, she decided to readjust some of Loki's clothes that had been altered so he could fit them over his bandages. With most of his dressings removed, the clothes would be loose and ill-fitting if Loki tried them on now. And Frigga knew Loki would probably take pride in his appearance even if he was trapped on a barren rock drifting through space.

Normally she would task a servant with such a mundane chore, but there were still none she could fully trust where Loki was concerned. Frigga made a note to find some with less anti-Jotun sentiment.

She grabbed one of his tunics, her sewing box, and took a seat across from him in the library. She laid the shirt across her lap and opened her sewing kit, taking out a needle and matching colour of thread. She stared at the edge of the tunic, contemplating the best pattern to use, as she had done more weaving in recent years than sewing.

A soft thump drew her from her thoughts. She glanced up to see Loki, book at his feet from where it had slipped from limp fingers. His face was white with naked fear.

He was staring at the needle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loki remembered the tale of the two sisters who had been lost in the snow and were rescued by a mother wolf. He remembered sitting on Mother's lap, Thor either beside Mother or playing with some of his toys, drowsy and content as she read it to him before he went to sleep. He had thought everyone had heard the story, but when he had asked Sif about it when he was about two centuries old, she had looked at him strangely. Volstagg, being much older than the lot of them, told him there was no such story.

Thor had fought Volstagg on that. Volstagg had won, being large even at that age, though had been magnanimous enough to call it a truce.

Seeing as the tale was of two Jotun girls, the confusion now made sense. No one else in Asgard would have read this story to their children (because in most stories with happy endings, the only Jotnar were dead ones.)

Loki did not remember what happened after he saw the needle. He had looked up to ask Mother if the only thing she had changed was the girls' species, when he spotted it.

_It_ , and its _glint_ , its sharp point _punching_ through skin and out the other side, covered with gore and going back in again and again. The black thread sealing his skin shut, roughly forcing his flesh together so he couldn't speak, he couldn't scream and there was blood filling his mouth and his throat and he had to swallow or else drown in it. He couldn't tell them to stop because to them he was _nothing_ , a Jotun, a monster, a king-killer, and he couldn't _speak_.

What was it doing _here_ , he was supposed to be safe, Mother and Thor had made sure he was safe, Thor had _rescued_ him and Mother was taking care of him.

Yes, Mother was taking care of him, because she was in front of him, her mouth moving (not sewn shut, not crisscrossed with gore-covered thread), her hands on either side of his face. The needle was nowhere in sight. Loki knew because he checked, scanning the floor to see if it had dropped down, if it was still _there_.

The floor, he was on the floor, his back against the wall, but he had been sitting down, in one of Mother's sitting chairs.

(Had he lost track again? Lost track of the days lost track of the tortures and now he had lost track of his whereabouts.)

“Loki, please, I'm sorry, it's gone, it's gone now–” Mother's voice, desperate and tearful.

“No, no, no, no, no–” and that sound was muffled, echoing in Loki's head.

It was his voice. When he felt wetness on his hands, trickling down from his cheeks, he discovered his hands were over his mouth. Protecting it.

“Loki, my son, it's gone, you're safe, please Loki–” Mother was crying as well, and Loki did not want that. He shut his mouth, the teeth clacking together, halting the chorus of _no no no no_. Next, he tried to take his hands from his face.

But if removed them, how could he tell if the thread was there or not?

He ended up with one hand clenched by his side, nails biting into the skin, and the fingers of the other hand resting lightly on his lips. So he could feel if his mouth was free, if holes were punched through and the blood came pouring down.

“Oh, Loki, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Mother gasped and hugged him, Loki's head resting on her shoulder.

“It's just a needle,” he choked out, because what warrior of Asgard ( _Jotunheim_ ) was afraid of a _needle_?

But Mother shook her head and tugged him closer.

“No, Loki, it's not, it's not.” She held him, until the tears stopped, and Loki no longer felt phantom strands, weaving through skin and sealing his mouth shut.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, this whole fic could be renamed “Everyone Apologizes to Someone About Something, Except Those Who Don't Apologize, Because They're Dicks”, and it would still be accurate. Or, alternatively, “Hey Look, Racism”.  
> The thing about the hole in the rock in Thor 2 to get between realms: I don't like. Screw holes in rocks, I want magic (even if holes in rocks would be an interesting world-building thing to explore: are they naturally occurring? How does one pop out in the appropriate realm after going through the tunnel? How the fuck has no one discovered these things for about 20 000 years?). Hence Loki's comment about 'more ways than the physical.'  
> Also, do you know how hard it is to make excuses for why the two most powerful people in all of Asgard never seemed to have said, at any point in a thousand years, that the Jotnar are people and should be treated as such? After adopting one? Seriously, Marvel should be the one thinking up these excuses, not me.


	16. Days Twenty to Twenty-six: Hatred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki tries to adapt to his new life as the only Jotun on Asgard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some reservations about this chapter before writing it, and wrote something I don't normally include in fics. Also, as a disclaimer, while things in Asgard are awful for frost giants, Loki isn't necessarily reliable as a narrator. Apart from having a tendency to skew negatively things, he currently has a very bleak and wary view of the world.

Mother had hidden away all her sewing equipment, including her threads, just in case. Though Loki was grateful, he rather thought a fear of needles was the least of his troubles.

Walking the halls unseen, sometimes he caught rumours and whispers, heavy with vitriol against the Jotnar and against him. People would say it was neither his parents' nor Thor's fault that Loki still lived, was allowed in their halls, but powerful Jotun magic that had influenced the royal family's minds. Many still believed Loki had killed the king.

(Which was true, though not in the way they thought.)

Even if Loki had not had the good sense to keep himself concealed, the people's fear would have quickly driven him into hiding anyway.

There were few places Loki dared reveal himself outside of Mother's quarters or his own. The rare times Loki entered his quarters had been to retrieve some of his belongings, and to assure himself that no one had entered in his absence. Then he would set new spells that would repel any but Mother, Thor, and (after a brief hesitation the first time he had set the charms) Sif and the Warriors Three as well.

However, Loki's rooms felt foreign, uncomfortable, as if they belonged to a different time, a different person. And they were too much of a risk to linger in, if any unusually canny and strong-willed warrior wished to confront him.

Thor _had_ offered protection. He was in the process of disciplining a group of loyal Einherjar, giving them speeches about the Jotnar similar to the one he'd given Loki, so they could look after the construction of the Jotnar diplomats' buildings. Later, they were also meant to guard the diplomats themselves.

Thor, in all his foolish optimism, had asked if Loki wished for a similar contingent of Einherjar.

Loki had declined, the first time and the next two times Mother and Thor had brought it up. He did not trust the Einherjar, for all of Thor's confidence, to obey Thor's orders. Having a group of unknown, heavily armed, and highly-trained Æsir surrounding him at all times would not exactly make him feel safe. It would only take one of them to stab him in the back.

And it was not as if Loki didn't stand out enough already. He didn't need a troop of Einherjar to announce his presence wherever he went.

In a pique of curiosity, Loki had actually paid a visit to the modification of what was to be the Jotnar's quarters. Not that any had seen him, of course. He strode down the streets in the guise of a peasant, and crept through the construction unseen.

Rooms were being enlarged, and new ones were being constructed. Furniture, built for giants, was being brought in.

Loki had stood next to the new table in what was to be the dining hall. His head barely came over the top.

He remembered Thor's heartbroken words, wondering what would have happened, had Loki grown up in Jotunheim. Would Loki have felt out of place, as a dwarf might feel among Æsir or Vanir? Or would they have made space for him, as Thor was trying to do now for the Jotnar?

(But had not Loki always felt out of place on Asgard anyway?)

Running his hand along the grain of the wood, Loki walked on, following the table until it came to an end, then wandered out through the dining hall's doorway. He entered into a corridor, one that had already been so large no changes had to be made. He ambled down it aimlessly, listening to the sounds of construction echoing through the hall.

Loki did not know how he felt about other Jotnar coming. Would Thor tell them about Loki? Even if Thor did not, it would not take them long to find out. Would they want to meet him? Would they see him as a freak, an Ás-raised runt with no place among them (not that Loki wanted one)? Would they scorn and refuse him?

( _A monster not wanted by monsters_.)

He was startled out of his thoughts when a group of labourers marched by, tool bags strapped to their backs, with two Einherjar following behind at a respectable distance. As the group passed, he heard a snatch of conversation.

“If you ask me, there has to be something else going on,” one of the men said. “The Allfather would never have brought one of _those_ things into Asgard and decided to raise it. Negotiating with them? Fine, as long as they keep to their realm for the most part.”

Loki's heart stuttered in his chest. He did not want to hear more.

His feet carried him after the group anyway.

“Maybe he was simply a bit mad after the battle,” a man next to the first said. “You know what happens to the mind in a war.” A chorus of agreements from the other men. “Once he realized his folly, the Allfather probably made sure it knew its proper place. I mean, it's been obvious that King Thor would follow his father and take the throne since he was a boy, though the Allfather had made no announcement. That was probably the Allfather's influence, making sure it _knew_ –”

The man tripped, seemingly on nothing. As he sprawled forward, his bag split open, spilling dirt-stained tools and equipment onto his back and the polished gold floor.

Loki fled the half-built structure and did not return.

He wondered if they were right.

He knew Mother and Thor would disagree.

Thor no longer thought the Jotnar to be monsters, and Mother claimed she had never held them in that light.

Perhaps the Jotnar were not monsters.

But that did not mean Loki could not be one.

After Loki had learned the truth and before he had been imprisoned, he had wished all of them _dead_.

He had planned to hurt Thor, not physically, but to do _something_ to make sure he did not return.

And Loki had killed Father. What son did that to the man who had raised him, protected him since birth?

No matter what Mother said, Loki knew he had caused this from the start. And in the course of a few days, he had managed to betray and murder those of two different races. The races he was supposed to _belong_ to.

Loki was a monster.

However, for Mother's sake, and because Thor claimed he _could_ , perhaps Loki could learn how to change.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Mother's rooms were too stifling and Loki did not want to wander about in another shape or concealed from every eye, Loki would either stroll outside, far enough away from the palace that he would not be spotted, or take to the library.

It would probably be easier take a horse when he travelled outside the palace, yet that idea had been scrapped the first time he tried it. Around the horses, he had to walk about unconcealed, so after checking that the stable was empty and there was no one around, he had carefully and quietly closed the stable doors. Then he had dropped his spell and made his way over his favoured steed.

The horse had been happy to see him, at least, whinnying and munching on the carrot Loki had filched (unseen) from the kitchen.

Loki had grabbed a saddle from the tack in the middle of the stable when the doors opened. A stable boy walked in, caught sight of Loki, and stopped in his tracks.

Loki froze, saddle in hand, in between the tack and the stall.

They stared at each other, and for a moment it was silent but for the sound of horses nickering and stamping their hooves.

The boy's eyes widened in surprise, and probably in fear. Maybe once the boy got over his shock, his eyes would narrow in anger, his face would twist in revulsion. Certainly he wouldn't bow, as a stable boy should to a prince. Would the boy ignore him? Mock him? Insult him?

Suddenly a flash of vitriol coursed through Loki. A stable-boy, a _servant_ of the palace, could treat Loki as less than the horses he cared for. And who could blame the boy for it? Surely a _Jotun_ didn't deserve even the respect of the palace's noble steeds. Who, but the few family and friends Loki had left, would think the boy had done any wrong?

Loki bared his teeth in a snarl, ready to shout a the boy, to scream at him to _GET OUT_.

But the moment Loki moved, the stable boy turned on his heel and fled, not even bothering to close the stable doors behind him.

The anger drained out of Loki in a rush, leaving him feeling only tired and drained. He dropped the saddle and sunk against the nearest stall. The horse inside clopped over and nudged its head against Loki's shoulder until Loki began absentmindedly patting it.

Maybe he shouldn't have done that. Maybe now the boy would tell everyone of the monster he had seen in the stable. Or maybe the boy would be too afraid and would keep silent.

In any case, Loki had no desire to enter the stables again (though the horses were among the few that treated him no differently than before).

Thankfully, the long walks also meant it would take nearly a full day to wander out to the fields, or forest, or slopes of the mountain, and then come back. Mother could be assured he had stayed out of trouble for the day without his having to lie to her more than necessary. And outside the palace, there would be little chance of Loki overhearing any unsavoury conversations.

The trips were especially long, since he could not walk as fast as he was used to. His legs were frail, his ankles even more so, and he had more than once sprained his ankle on what should have been a gentle slope. On his second outing he had tripped on a råtta hole, and from the pain shooting through his ankle, he thought he had broken it. It had taken until mid-afternoon before Loki could comfortably walk without limping, and he had been forced to return to the palace without once dropping his invisibility spell.

Those times Loki journey far enough from the palace to stop hiding, he would walk through clearings where he and Thor had played as children. He passed pools and rivers where they swam, tunics and boots thrown haphazardly over nearby branches, so they could cool down on a hot summer's day (the type of day that Loki had always found unbearably stifling, even though Thor and Sif and the rest of them were fine. Loki didn't think he felt any better knowing the reason why.)

He found the hollowed tree trunk where he had gone on his first hunting trip as a child, with Father. Loki had been too young to really catch anything, but Father had spent the whole day showing Loki how to properly shoot a bow; how to best fling a knife; and if all else failed, the best place to aim a stone.

(Was it wrong for Loki to remember his Father like this? After what he had done?)

(He had stared at the spot, unmoving, feeling as hollow as the trunk, until it was time to turn back.)

Once, he spent an afternoon on the edge of a field of flowers, sitting in the warmth of Asgard's sun. He and Mother had come to this field when Loki had begun practising his growth magic. Under her guidance, Loki had coaxed seeds into sprouting, and sprouts into bloom. He had turned weeds into roses, dandelions into spring tulips. With the thoughts of warmth, of bringing forth life with just a touch of his own mind and soul, it was not long before Loki's thoughts turned to the cold beneath his skin. And the cold in his mind.

He found it so soothing, so comforting to reach out and touch. Yet if Loki touched it now, he knew the plants around him would freeze and blacken. All that life, snuffed with a thought. A gift that only brought cold and death.

What _beast_ found comfort in something that could only bring pain? Did other Jotnar feel that way? Was Thor wrong, and monstrosity was an intrinsic part of their minds and bodies, or did the cold not feel as good to them as it felt to Loki?

Perhaps the guards had been right to try taking it from him.

(If the Jotnar came to Asgard, could Loki ask them about the cold?)

When these thoughts came to eat at Loki, when he felt as if the bright sun scorched away his skin and his secrets until anyone could look upon him and see his crimes, he retreated to the library.

Though the library was busier than Asgard's plains, it did not take hours of arduous walking to reach, and had no painful memories embedded in its fields and forests. For more often than not, Loki had visited the library alone. And while he had been on friendly-enough terms with the library's keepers, and some of the scholars and sorcerers who regularly visited its halls, he only deepened his layers of concealment spells when they passed.

He thought about walking into the library without hiding, about approaching them and greeting one by one. Would there be a slight hesitation, before they smiled and greeted him as a prince and a favoured acquaintance? Or would they look upon him with disgust and fear, flinch back from any proffered hand?

Was it better for Loki to know whether he was hated or not, or to pretend that he could still be accepted as one of them?

He stuck to pretending, and crept past mages whom he had taken lessons with and eventually surpassed.

He knew the library's great halls well, which rooms were frequented every day and which would only be occasioned once every few decades.

It was to these lesser-used rooms he brought Mother's musty old books on Jotunheim.

They were mostly tales of adventure between Æsir and Jotnar. Some were real histories, sagas that seemed to be written in great-grandfather Buri's time (or rather, adopted great-grandfather), their wording archaic and some of their pages lost to time.

There were sagas of giants and Æsir visiting Midgard and disturbing the inhabitants of some small village or other. Or tales of trouble with sorcerers or Dire Wolves and the adventurers would have to save each other, the Æsir crawling through stone corridors where the Jotnar would not fit, the Jotnar scaling ramparts with ease thanks to their size; the Jotnar wielding trees as clubs while the Æsir fended off wolves from the Jotnar's backs (Loki rather thought Thor would enjoy those stories). There was a florid retelling of an Ás sorcerer, keeping his Jotun friend cool while they braved the heat of Musphelheim together; the Jotun doing his best to keep the Ás warm as they traversed Jotunheim, seeking to reclaim the Jotun's lost inheritance.

Then there were stories, meant for children and adults both. Tales of forbidden love between a young Ás noblewoman and a frost giant, who had rescued her from near-certain death, starving and lost in the Boiling Plains. There was a whole volume devoted to the love between a young Ás man and a frost giantess: together they stormed the castle of Bælgrimm the Wicked, found the lost treasure of Månen, travelled across the nine realms and aided any who they came across. Loki found a children's book, not warning of the dangerous frost giants, but showing the two species playing together, exploring secrets together, and getting into trouble together.

His second day of reading those tales, Loki left the library well after dark, struggling with the conflicting emotions welling within him. He wished he could believe what Mother and Thor, as well as the books, claimed.

And yet...

His blue skin and red eyes filled him with revulsion. It still meant he was a monster, or less than nothing. It meant he could be thrown back into the dungeons and bled and burnt and no one would care. If at any time he closed his eyes and imagined the blue patterned skin overtaking his pale flesh, he would be filled with fear, terrified that the torturers were just down the hall, coming to cut his mouth open for another day of questions.

Loki would remember the fear he had of frost giants as a child, brought on by his nursemaids' tales, and by the glorious stories of Æsir murdering the Jotnar in hordes, told as they toasted to the frost giants' demise. And Loki would feel self-disgust rising in the pit of his stomach, along with the sharp taste of vomit.

Loki would remember how Thor would defend those childhood fears, by promising to kill any Jotun that dared touch him. And if one did, Thor promised he would march into Jotunheim and take his revenge in Jotun lives. When he remembered how Thor's childish passion had only grown into hatred with time, well past the time Loki's own nightmares ceased, he would grow afraid that Thor might change his mind about the Jotnar. Change his mind about his false-brother and cast him aside, or bring Mjolnir crushing down on his head.

Loki would remember where Father's favour had always lain, and Loki knew he had been lesser since birth.

( _Even Laufey had seen he was worthless._ )

If Thor let the Jotnar come to Asgard, Loki would have to see their blue skin, their red eyes. He would have to remember what was hidden beneath his own false skin every time he saw one of them. He would have to remember crushing silver manacles wrapped around patterned blue wrists, knives carving open a chest that seemed to belong to someone else but for the pain he felt. He would have to remember the sight of black nails being torn off, of blue skin being shredded and burnt.

Loki did not want to remember.

The sound of footsteps down the hall broke Loki out of his thoughts. It was only when the footsteps came to a halt, that it occurred to Loki that he had forgotten to hide himself on the way back from the library. He looked up and the world froze.

It seemed Loki's torturers were just down the hall after all.

It was the first pair. The older one, who had explained what would happen to Loki before they even started, and the younger one, who had been affronted on Mother's behalf.

Neither Mother nor Thor had been able to punish the torturers. They had just been doing what they were supposed to. Protecting Asgard.

The younger one nudged his senior, and whispered something in his ear. Both grinned and began walking towards Loki.

Loki knew those footsteps. He knew them, walking down a metal corridor, keys jangling; or shuffling beyond the table he was strapped to, grabbing their next instrument or pushing one of the buttons on the table's control panel. He knew their faces, looking down through the waves of pain as they asked him question after question.

(YOU KILLED YOUR FATHER YOU UNGRATEFUL RUNT YOU KILLED YOUR FATHER)

Loki's breath was coming out in painful gasps and his knees felt weak, so he could not for the life of him figure out why they stopped a few feet away.

“You don't want to do that,” the older one cautioned. They were both staring at his hands.

Afraid to take his eyes off them for long, Loki glanced down too. His left hand held a ball of flame, white-hot and cupped in the centre of his palm. In his right hand was a pulsing sphere of golden energy.

The younger man's own hand was on his sword. “Think of what the Kingdom would do, hearing that the _frost giant_ murdered two of its beloved guards?”

The senior guard inched closer. “Do you not think you–”

“I will kill you,” Loki heard his voice say, “if you ever speak to me again.” The older guard stopped moving. Both of them seemed as shocked as Loki felt, though Loki was surprised he could form coherent sentences through his fear.

“It will not be quick,” Loki promised, speaking out of some utterly terrified and beautifully wrathful part of his mind. “It will last even longer than a week. You will feel your hearts slowing to a stop before I tear them out of your chests.”

The senior guard took one step back. Both looked nervous.

_Good_.

“King Odin claimed me as his son,” Loki continued, body rigid and lips pulled back from his teeth, “and King Thor presented me as his brother. I have the power to destroy your lives, to make yours wholly, wretchedly, miserably _pathetic_ , if I but _wish_ it.”

_Like mine_ , he thought. _Like how my life was ruined by the mistake of a king_.

Loki thought Father's mistake was not removing the glamour, but picking Loki up off the ground in the first place.

The younger guard tightened his grip on his sword, but the older one put a hand on his shoulder. They glanced at each other, and the older one shook his head. The senior guard backed up and continued down the corridor. After a moment, the younger guard followed.

They walked past Loki, giving him a large berth. None of them broke eye contact until the guards disappeared around the far corner of the hall.

The flames in Loki's hand disappeared and the energy dissipated from the other. Loki dropped to the ground and drew his knees up to his chest, barely remembering to shield himself from sight.

He could not stop shaking.

Later, when Mother asked where he had been, he said he had been walking. To clear his head.

She believed him, of course.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Four days later, as night was falling, Loki was in the topiary just outside the library when he was asked to the throne room.

More specifically, Loki was out walking alone, unconcealed after using a quick spell to ensure that there was no one else in the gardens. Suddenly, Huginn dropped out of the sky with a message attached to his leg: Thor requested Loki's presence, and he should dress semi-formally. Which meant a visit to Loki's rooms, as his better clothes were still in his closest. Moreover, in a formal meeting in the throne room, the only weapons allowed were the King's.

He told the raven he would be along shortly, then walked quickly back to his rooms. Though the halls were empty, he kept a concealment spell tight about him. Once he was back in his quarters, he dropped it, glad there were still a few places he did not have to hide his face, before carefully setting his knives on a table. He would retrieve them after the meeting.

After choosing the outfit he had tended to wear around the palace before...everything, he carefully reset the enchantments surrounding his rooms. Then he straightened his clothing, left his quarters, and shut the door behind him.

A fist slammed into his face, sending Loki sprawling.

“I _told_ you I saw the door to his rooms open,” a voice crowed gleefully above him. Loki glanced up to see a young warrior, surrounded by another two about his age, and two guards old enough to have fought in the war. Then a boot came down towards his face.

Loki rolled to the side and jumped to his feet, and dodged as another fist angled towards his stomach. The movement brought him close enough to slam his elbow into one's of the warriors' noses, feeling it connect with a soft _crunch_. Unfortunately, it gave time for one of the guards to stick a knife in his side, between his ribs.

Biting back the gasp of pain, Loki shot his hand out, catching the guard just beneath the chin. The guard fell back, taking the knife with him, and Loki felt the tearing of a muscle that had not quite healed, but he was already spinning away, trying to escape from the group and _run_.

Except there was a hand on his collar pulling him back. As Loki was turning to take care of that problem, someone jabbed his knife-wound.

Loki yelped, and then there were hands on his shoulders, his neck, twisting and dragging him down. He fell onto his front, his face turned to the side just in time to prevent a broken nose, arms splayed out to protect his body. Perhaps he should have let his body take the fall, since a boot slammed down on his left hand, grinding it into the floor as Loki cried out. He tucked the other hand close to his chest.

Once the foot let up, Loki tried to launch himself forward, but a pair of hands grabbed his left leg, bringing his escape to a halt. Not bothering to take aim, Loki kicked out blindly to dislodge the attacker. He heard a grunt, but before the hands could loosen, someone else grabbed his right leg.

Maybe Loki could have shaken them off, if a foot had not come to rest on his head, followed by a knee that dug into the middle of his back.

Loki stilled, though his mind was racing. He was pinned. No weapons. He couldn't see the attackers well enough to aim an effective spell. The only things free were his hands, and one of them was useless.

“You want to crawl, Jotun?” one of them said. A different one from earlier, probably one of the guards. Now there were two pairs of hands on his right leg, swivelling and lifting it. Something heavy crashed down on his knee.

Loki screamed as the leg broke, the newly-healed bone shattering in the same three places. “Then we'll watch you crawl,” the voice snarled.

“We can _make_ you crawl,” another one chuckled. And as the hands moved to his other leg, dropping his right one painfully to the ground, a hand snaked into the space between his back and his trousers. It tugged the material down.

Sickening fear shot through Loki. “ _No_ ,” he gasped, trying to buck them off, but they only pressed down harder. No, they would _not_ , they _could not_ take him against his will, right there in front of his rooms.

As the hands were twisting his left leg, the man gave another yank. Loki's trousers slid down a few inches. “What's wrong? I heard you liked this sort of thing.” The man laughed.

As if that would _ease_ the violation.

As if Loki would let them.

Searching for that cold place in his mind, Loki shot out his right hand and grabbed the ankle of the man crushing his head. Once he heard the man's startled shout, which quickly turned into a shout of pain, he felt the other attackers' hands loosen in surprise. Loki gathered his magic around him and _shoved_ , throwing the men back with a burst of power. The hands wrenched at his leg as they fell back, probably spraining something.

Loki shut out the pain, focused on the place he wished to go, and tore through space.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loki counted it as a small victory that he managed to surprise Heimdall when he appeared in a panting and bleeding heap at the Gatekeeper's feet.

Heimdall blinked and looked down as Loki rolled onto his back with a groan. Though Heimdall's eyes did not move, he probably saw everything from the knife wound to the broken bones.

Normally Loki would refuse to show himself as anything but a perfectly poised prince to the Gatekeeper. However, in this case, looking as pitiful as he felt would be more effective than any show of dignity.

In a pragmatic tone, Heimdall said, “King Thor and the Queen Mother are currently in the throne room with–”

“ _No_ ,” Loki interrupted, sitting up, drawing in a sharp breath as he pulled at the stab wound. He turned away from Heimdall to look out across the bridge, at the golden palace dominating both landscape and sky. Something was occurring to Loki. After the guarded healing quarters, after the angry and appalled faces in the throne room, after his isolation.

Something he did not want to believe.

“I cannot go back,” he whispered, more to himself, and knew Heimdall heard him anyway. “I cannot stay here.”

Wrenching his gaze away, Loki turned back to Heimdall and said a truth he should have known since the day Father collapsed.

“They will kill me if I stay.”

Those golden eyes were staring down at him, but Loki did not think they were looking at him at the moment. Lips pulling down in a slight frown, Heimdall nodded. “Aye, they will.”

Loki burst out laughing, though the sound was ragged and hitched. “I am leaving behind the only home I've ever known,” he gasped, blinking tears out of his eyes. “The least you could do is _disagree_ with me.”

Heimdall let go of his sword with his right hand. “I could disagree, and say you have friends that would wish you safe, though they are few and far between.” With a swift movement he crouched down and threw Loki's arm over his shoulder, careful to avoid the injured hand. As he straightened, taking most of Loki's weight, he added, “Yet it does not stop the many, who would act out of fear and rage before ceding to mercy.”

Loki found himself staring as Heimdall half-dragged him into the Bifrost chamber. “Have you been watching out for me, Gatekeeper?”

Heimdall did not deign to answer, his mouth only twitching in what could be a smile before he simply deposited Loki gently in front of the gateway. Making his way to the pedestal, he said, “I can send you to Jotunheim, if you wish.”

“No! _No_ , I – I can't.” Loki could not, no matter what Thor and Mother said. He could not. Not yet.

“Then where?” The question was mild, so calm compared to the turmoil Loki felt building in his head.

Where to? Vanaheim hated the Jotnar as much as Asgard, and as Prince, Loki would be forced to disguise himself in every one of the realms if he wished for peace.

Every realm but one. The one that had helped Thor.

With a confidence he did not feel, Loki answered. “Midgard.”

Heimdall only nodded, as if it were the obvious choice. “I will inform the royal family of your departure. On Midgard, ask the mortals in suits for Coulson and Jane,” he said, then slid his sword into the mechanism.

With a rush of light, Loki was pulled away from Asgard. From his home. From his family.

He landed on warm sand beside a small metal and glass structure. Several men and women in suits were staring at him in slack-jawed amazement.

Then one of them took a small object out of his coat pocket, and began to mutter something into it before walking towards him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Råtta' means rat in Swedish (even though they aren't burrowing animals, but maybe they are in Asgard), and 'Månen' means moon. (If you haven't noticed, I'm bad at thinking up names.)  
> Also, I should say that I see Loki as bisexual, or pansexual, or whatever your preferred term is. Which seems to be pretty much myth canon, and is now comic canon!  
> Next week, I won't be able to update on time; I have somewhere to be for most of Saturday, so I'll either post the next chapter quite late on Saturday, or on Sunday.


	17. Day Twenty-Six: Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor and Frigga hear of Loki's injuries, and his appearance on Midgard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Mother's day! And sorry about the delay; it's been a busy weekend.

Thor decided he could not pace around the throne room with a prince from another realm present, so he had to settle for fidgeting with Mjolnir. Mother noticed, though, and laid her hand on his, stilling the fingers. If Prince Helblindi saw, he was too polite to say anything.

None of them had wished for the formality of standing around while Thor sat on the Hliðskjálf. Instead, the three of them waited in the centre of the throne room. The Einherjar had been dismissed, waiting outside the throne room with the two Jotnar that Helblindi had brought as escorts. Few else, apart from the council, knew that Helblindi was already on Asgard.

The council had finally agreed to enough of Thor's plans that Thor thought it time to begin negotiations with the Jotnar. So after being sent a short message, Helblindi had agreed to come and assess Thor's initial plans for joint discussions, after Helblindi had petitioning King Laufey to make agreements by himself on Jotunheim's behalf. Wary about the reception, they had kept Helblindi's coming a secret, until the official diplomacy could begin.

But first, there had to be the tedious discussion of numbers, how many Jotnar to stay in Asgard and for how long, when to start, and if any Æsir should be sent to Jotunheim (the council still had to be won over on that last detail). Once that was settled, Thor then told Helblindi of the Einherjar he had been training, who would eventually help Helblindi's own Jotnar escorts. Two in fact were guarding the door, and as Thor had yet to hear any disruptions, he thought all those speeches might be working: speeches of days when Jotunheim and Asgard were friendlier (as learnt from Mother and old books), or how their current king thought the Jotnar were no more fearsome than the Æsir, so the guards' loyalty must extend to protecting the Jotnar as well.

Something Thor had nearly forgotten, until Volstagg had mentioned them in a letter, was cooks that would provide meals for the Jotnar. Thor had been surprised, as he told Helblindi, that he had found both servants and cooks from families that used to be friendly with the Jotnar before the war. They had nearly _volunteered_ their services when Thor spoke to them about two days before.

And it was only yesterday that Thor realized those loyal cooks could also serve Loki; so far, he and Mother had been having identical meals, so no particularly zealous servant would try to poison the food, in case they harmed the Queen Mother as well.

Perhaps Thor would have Loki talk to those cooks, just as he was planning to have Loki also talk to his Einherjar. Thor had one or two in mind that Loki might particularly like; and perhaps if Loki met them, he might be convinced to accept the security they could provide. At the very least, they could guard Loki's rooms when he returned to them.

Thor did not entirely understand _why_ his brother was so resistant to the idea of guards. Loki was solitary by nature, but surely he could see his _safety_ was more important than his habit of wandering off on his own. Mother had told him that Loki needed space, but she agreed Loki should have someone for protection once he rejoined palace life.

However, if worst came to worst then Thor would just order the Einherjar to guard Loki discreetly. And when the Warriors Three returned from Vanaheim, Thor could ask them and Sif to take turns looking after his brother. It was too much of a burden to ask Sif to do it alone, especially since she was now on the council as well.

Finished with the discussion of cooks (where Helblindi volunteered to bring his own to help teach the Æsir chefs Jotun cooking), Thor told the Jotun prince of his plans to add Vanaheim into the arrangements. So far, attempting to improve Vanaheim's attitude towards the Jotnar had not been going well, but Thor held up his hopes.

Then they moved onto talks of trade, the most important subject in getting this alliance to work. Like with the cooks and labourers, Thor had searched through heads of guilds and merchants who would be willing to trade with the Jotnar. He had thought all would decline, yet there were more than a few who seemed to have little reservations about trading with the Jotnar. They were the guilds that braved Yggdrasil's space lanes all the way to the caverns and palaces deep under the surface of Svartalfheim (though the dwarfs who lived there preferred to call it _Niðavellir). Perhaps those merchants saw Jotunheim only as an adventure. Or perhaps as just another realm to add to their trading routes, and cared not for discrimination when there was a profit to be made._

All in all, Helblindi had seemed to approve. “I have been working with the Elders on Jotunheim,” he told Thor and Mother, when they asked after his own realm. “It is slow going, but if Asgard does not rescind their aid, then I believe many will be convinced that this is better than war.”

Finally, it came time for what Thor felt was the main purpose of the meeting. He tightened his grip on Gungnir.

“You no longer need search for traitors or offenders of Asgard within Jotunheim's ranks,” he said before Helblindi could take his leave. This was the part of the meeting that Thor had been dreading, in case Helblindi rejected Loki, as Laufey had.

(Or in case Helblindi wanted to see Loki, and Loki decided he preferred his brother by blood.)

“Oh? And why not?” Helblindi asked, looking curiously between Thor and Frigga.

Frigga stepped forward, her face betraying nothing of the nervousness Thor felt. “Do you know that at the end of the war, your father had a son?”

Helblindi blinked, his face growing puzzled. “I-what? At the end of the war between _our_ people?”

Mother nodded. “Yes. He was born a runt, not long before your people lost the war.”

The frost giant stared at her, then Thor, as if expecting this to be a joke. “How you can be sure of any of this? How can _you_ know of it if _I_ do not?”

Thor answered this time. “Because your father left that babe to die in a temple, the same that held the Casket of Ancient Winters. And my father found him, hid him under a glamour to make him look Ás, and brought him back here to raise.”

At first, Helblindi did not move, shock widening his red eyes and slackening his jaw. Then he sputtered out, “ _Raised_? By the _Allfather_ , or–”

“Yes. As our own younger son,” Mother confirmed.

Helblindi still looked incredulous. “But _why_? On Jotunheim, the Allfather is...not known for his kindness. _Especially_ towards the Jotnar.” Thor caught a resentful edge to his tone, one that had always been present in Járnsaxa's voice on Midgard, and only sometimes in Helblindi's. Thor wondered if he truly did not feel as angry as the war commander, or if he was simply better at hiding it.

“He had his reasons, some of which he took to Valhalla,” Mother answered calmly. Both she and Thor knew it would be best to avoid mention of any political motivations Father may have had for taking Loki. Telling Helblindi of Loki was already enough of a risk for delicate peace between the two realms, in case Helblindi happened to take issue with Asgard taking Loki in. Or if the Jotun prince decided that Loki should come back with him to Jotunheim, whether Loki wished to or not.

“But Loki was no less family for his birth,” Mother added when Helblindi's eyes narrowed at the brevity of her answer, voice firm as if to dispel any doubt that Loki did not belong. “And up until recently....” She hesitated as she glanced away for a moment, and Thor thought he could see shame in her eyes, before she looked at Helblindi again. “No one but myself and King Odin knew of Loki's origins. Loki himself only found out shortly after he returned from Jotunheim.”

“That is why my friends accused you of Father's death and Loki's kidnapping,” Thor explained. “They did not know of his heritage, and when his true skin was revealed when Father...passed on, Asgard thought him an imposter.”

Helblindi opened his mouth, as if he was about to say something, then closed it and rubbed a large blue hand over his face. Turning on his heel, he walked a few paces away, steps heavy and slow.

Suddenly, he stopped, and let out a sharp bark of laughter, the sound echoing in the cavernous room. “A runt, born as Jotunheim was falling?” Bitterness underscored what would otherwise be matter-of-fact words, and Helblindi's shoulder's hunched, as if in anger. Or shame. “Aye, I could see Father leaving him to die. And hiding the birth from all who might wish to know.”

He turned towards them again, though his eyes were on the golden walls behind them, as if the brightly polished surface would allow him to see into the past. “And what happened to your Second Prince Loki – my _brother_ , Loki–” Helbindi broke off, gaze still distant. Thor wondered if he was trying to remember what Loki looked like, from that fateful expedition to Jotunheim. Was Helblindi even there when Thor made that foolish journey, or had the Jotun prince been absent for all that destruction and death?

Helblindi's gaze finally alit on the two of them, his hands clenched into fists in front of him. Even from a few paces away, Thor could feel the cold radiating off of the frost giant. Slowly, Helblindi asked, “What happened to the lone, small, Jotun whom all of Asgard believed to be an imposter?”

“He was...tortured, for information,” Mother began, her voice shaking minutely. But she held Helblindi's eyes as she said, “When I tried to tell them of the truth, I was locked away. They thought me mad, for believing King Odin would raise a Jotun.” Her mouth twisted, the only conveyance of her scorn and anger.

Thor took over, his voice strained as he tried to suppress his grief. “Once I returned, Mother had to convince me of the truth. But it was only once I saw Loki, and _listened_ to him–”

Thor looked aside, no longer able to hold Helblindi's eyes as he thought of the uncertainty and rage he had felt in the dungeons “–It was then that I believed who he was,” Thor finished saying to the wall. After a moment, he gathered himself again to look at Helblindi, and at the Jotun's face that was slowly growing stormy. “I took him from the dungeons, but Asgard has been...unwelcoming of him.”

“So they tortured a prince of both our realms, because of Asgard's hatred for us all?” Helblindi snorted, though Thor could see his hands shaking in rage. “And you call _us_ beasts.”

“At least our people, my _father_ , gave him a home,” Thor snapped. Though he too understood, and felt the rage behind the sentiment, he would not allow his people to be slandered. And Laufey _had_ been the first to abandon Loki.

Helblindi glared at him as if he wished to run Thor through with an ice-blade. He opened his mouth to answer, when Frigga jumped in between them. “Stop!” she commanded. “What is done is done. We cannot change the past, only move forward.” She eyed the two of them, until they both backed down. Thor forced himself to relax. Most of his anger was not directed at Helblindi anyway, nor at anyone. Just formless anger at the whole of the situation.

When she saw they were no longer about to attempt a diplomatic incident, Frigga turned to Helblindi. “We have not yet told Loki about you. However, if you wish, we can change that.”

Helblindi nodded jerkily, the anger not quite faded from his rigid posture. But his voice was calm as he said, “If it can be arranged, I would very much like to see him.”

And now they were waiting. Huginn had informed them Loki was coming what felt like eons ago.

After stilling Thor's attempts at distraction, Frigga seemed too anxious to make her own diversions. “I should go look for him,” she announced. But as she strode towards the doors, Muninn swooped down from a window in the ceiling, one built just for the ravens.

The three of them stared at the bird, though he seemed not to notice the avid attention as he landed on Thor's shoulder.

“What is it, Muninn?” he asked, dreading the worst.

The message from Heimdall was not entirely what he was expecting, though Thor could not say if it was better or worse. However, it sent a jolt of fury and panic through him, which he could feel in Mjolnir's rising hum of power.

Thor shoved Gungnir at Mother, took Mjolnir from his belt, and began racing towards the throne room's doors.

“Thor! What is it?” Mother yelled after him.

“Muninn will tell you.”

“Thor–!”

But Thor could not wait. With Mjolnir, he could be there in a matter of seconds. He pushed through the doors, ignoring the startled Jotnar and Æsir guards, ran to the nearest balcony, and leapt, Mjolnir already speeding in front of him. The Bifrost was quickly growing in the distance, though still too slowly for Thor. What if the mortals treated Loki harshly, before his brother had a chance to explain? What if Loki was too injured for their medicines?

A storm was growing over Asgard as Thor landed in front of Heimdall. The Gatekeeper remained unruffled.

“Take me to him,” Thor demanded. Heimdall, not needing clarification, simply strode over to the pedestal as Thor nearly ran to the gateway.

“He is with Coulson's people. They are attempting to care for his injuries,” Heimdall said, and Thor quickly nodded his thanks before he was whisked away to Midgard once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first thing Thor noticed was that the plastic tubing that had surrounded Mjolnir was gone, leaving only a few small buildings, including the one in which Thor had been held.

It was from that building a man emerged. He was not one Thor recognized, and was not dressed in the same suits as the others. Instead he was wearing dark clothes and a jacket made of leather, and had short blond hair. Thor marched towards him, the knot of worry growing in his stomach, for the man did not look like one of their medical doctors.

The man spoke first, putting out his hand in the mortals' form of greeting. “Hi, Prince Thor, I'm Agent Barton. We got one of your guys back there.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, towards the building. Agent Barton's hand was still held out, so Thor took it, careful not to use his full strength in the handshake. He ignored the improper title of 'Prince', as there were more important matters to see to.

“Take me to him,” he said, trying not to make into a command, yet he could not lose the authority in his voice.

“Thor!”

The shout came from behind him. Thor turned to see a whirl of brown hair and then Jane ran into him, wrapping her arms around him in a swift hug. Trailing her was Darcy, hurriedly exiting Jane's vehicle.

Jane stepped back, colour rising in her cheeks. From the way she glanced at Agent Barton, her embarrassment was probably due to her show of enthusiasm, though the agent only looked amused. Thor himself felt a twinge of guilt, for he had not so much as sent a message to her since his return to Asgard.

For her part, Jane did not look angry, just worried. “Thor, what's going on? SHIELD called me. They said they had someone else from Asgard, and he's hurt?”

Thor nodded, fear only growing. “Aye, that he is. Agent Barton was to lead me to him.”

The man took the hint. “Yeah, he's right back here.” He turned back into the building, Thor following at his heels. Thor was glad the structure was small, for it did not take long before Agent Barton gestured to a door, one that was only two down from the mirrored room that had held him.

Even before Thor threw open the door, he could hear Agent Coulson speaking, as well as a woman's voice that he did not recognize.

“I told you, we can get Dr. Foster here immediately. Right now, Dr. Isaka will take care of you.”

“And you need some localized anaesthetic before I start setting the bones or closing the wound.”

“But is it _really_ necessary to put it in my bloodstream–”

The protest was from Loki, who cut off as soon as Thor entered. Not bothering to spare a greeting to Agent Coulson and the woman in a long white coat, Thor moved past them towards the far end of the medical room. Loki was propped up on a padded table, holding his left arm across his chest and staring at Thor, startled. With a lurch, Thor saw that Loki's right leg was at an awkward angle, the same angle it had been at in the dungeons, and his side was stained with blood, though thankfully the wound looked as if it had stopped bleeding.

Thor was by the bed in an instant, one hand gently cupping Loki's neck, afraid Loki might have lapsed into the same listlessness he displayed in the cell. But Loki was alert, his surprise melting into something softer, something with a grieved look.

“Loki, why are you here?” Thor asked, wishing to shake his brother until Loki's mind finally became clear of its convoluted reasoning. “We need to return to Asgard. The healers can help you and I must deal with the cretins who _dare_ lay a hand on you.” There was a rumble of thunder in the distance, and Loki looked up, a wistful expression on his face.

“I will miss this,” he murmured.

“What do you mean?” Thor dropped his hand as his voice grew louder in panic, filling the small room. What was _wrong_? Had they injured Loki's head as well? “Miss _what_? Loki–”

Loki turned his attention back to Thor. His eyes were glistening. “I am not going back to Asgard.”

Thor felt as if the world had been turned upside down, as if Loki were playing some horrible joke that had gone on for far too long. But even as he refused it with a rough shake of his head, Thor could feel the truth of it creeping into his mind.

( _The rumours, the whispers, the hatred and anger and fear. The reluctance and refusal from even the servants and laypeople to help a_ Jotun.)

“I will ensure it will _not_ happen again; no one on Asgard will _harm you_ again,” he said desperately. Yet before the words were out of his mouth, Thor knew it was a promise he could not keep. Einherjar would have to surround Loki all day, everywhere he went. Barely any servants could be used, for fear of poisons or curses. And even if Thor could stop the physical dangers, it would be a long time before he could stop the words that would surely reach Loki's ear. And in the few times Thor had managed to see his brother, Loki had always looked more exhausted than even Thor, with all his new kingly duties to attend to. Almost as if Loki were on the verge of sickness, as if Asgard's very air was harming him.

“But it _will_ happen again, and we both know it,” Loki protested, eyes damp but expression firm. Seeing through Thor's lies as easily as Thor did himself. “They did _this_ ,” Loki gestured at his body with his uninjured hand, “to me for leaving my _rooms_. For just being a _Jotun_. I cannot stay, Thor. I escaped before they did too much damage, but what if next time I don't? What if they go further? What if they kill me and leave my body, right there in the halls for someone to stumble across?” Loki's voice sounded on the verge of breaking. He paused for a moment before continuing with a hard edge.

“I cannot live as a fugitive, hiding away in yours or Mother's rooms, always with a guard to accompany me if I wish to walk around the home I grew up in. I _will not_. Not even–”

Loki stopped, and took a deep breath before saying softly, “–not even for you, or Mother.”

Thor bowed his head, his tears dropping onto the bedding beside Loki, faint splotches besmirching the white. He wished to protest, to rail against Loki's words, but there was nothing he could say.

Asgard was not safe for Loki.

And it was foolish of Thor not to have seen it sooner.

“Then, if this is your decision–” Thor raised his eyes, unsurprised to see Loki's face as tear-stained as his own. “I-I will miss you, brother.”

Loki snorted. “It is not as if I am departing Yggdrasil altogether, Thor. I will just be seconds away by Bifrost.” He grinned, though the smile did not reach his eyes. Both knew it was not so simple. As King, Thor barely had to time see Loki on _Asgard_ , let alone on Midgard.

The forced smile faded, and Loki slumped further into the bed. “But...I will miss you, too,” he said, face crumpling. Loki looked as if he were about to turn away, trying to hide the tears now falling with abandon, but Thor leaned over and gathered Loki up into a poor attempt at a hug. For a moment, Loki tensed, then slumped into the embrace.

Laying his head on Thor's shoulder, Loki mumbled, “I will miss all of it. You, and Mother, and–and I miss Father, and–”

“I know, Loki. I think we all miss Father.” Every day, Thor's very kingship brought the reminder of what his family – and Asgard – had lost. And every day Thor's last words to Father haunted his dreams and the edges of his waking thoughts.

Loki made a muffled noise of agreement. Then, haltingly, “Do you think things would be better... if he were here?”

Thor hesitated a moment. Father might have had a plan, one that would have allowed Loki to be safe, to be at peace. And yet...

“I do not know,” Thor answered. “I do not know if Asgard would be better for you, either way.” Just as Loki's truth stung, so did this. That no matter what, with the truth revealed, Asgard's people would not have Loki as their own.

Loki pulled back, the surprise bringing hurt to his features before he schooled them into a questioning look. “Do you mean I do not belong there?”

Thor sighed, wondering how, even in these moments, Loki could take his meaning the wrong way. “Of course you belong in Asgard. It is simply that others believe you do not. However, the Midgardians...they can be a welcoming people.”

Thor briefly glanced back at Jane and Darcy, who were staring at them worriedly, before returning his gaze to Loki. He cupped the back of Loki's neck and brought their foreheads together, so close they were nearly touching, erasing the distance Loki had tried to create.

Pouring all his hope – hope for his brother's happiness, hope that his brother could _allow_ himself to be happy – into his gaze, Thor smiled. A more sincere smile than the one Loki had mustered. “And I believe you can belong here, if you wish it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The instant Muninn spoke to her, Frigga told Helblindi that he and his guards should wait at the Bifrost, ordered a servant to bring Sif to the throne room, ran off to the Healing Ward, and nearly dragged Healer Maija out by her robes once the woman had grabbed a portable Healer's bag.

Coming back to the throne room, Frigga handed Gungnir to a very confused Sif, and told her, “Take care of the realm for a few hours,” before departing for the Bifrost with the Healer in tow.

Helblindi was impatient, his fingers never quite staying still, once Frigga arrived at the Bifrost. His two escorts seemed somewhat calmer, though they were glancing anxiously back at the palace, as if waiting for a band of Æsir to spot them and come charging down the bridge.

Frigga dipped her head graciously to Helblindi. “I am sorry, Prince Helblindi, but it would be best if you met Loki another time. Loki has been injured, and he waits for us on Midgard. When he is hale and on Asgard once more, we can arrange another meeting.” She regretted the delay, for she believed it would do Loki good to meet one of his blood. One that had not cast him out. And though she would not force a reunion on Loki now, how could she deny two brothers from meeting?

Helblindi's face fell, but he schooled his features quickly (and Frigga saw that Loki had not entirely learnt that gesture from her) and nodded. “Then I will look forward to meeting him another day. For now, I will tell my people of your promises, and I will gather our diplomats for a meeting.”

Then he and the other two Jotnar settled in front of the Bifrost opening, and Heimdall returned them to Jotunheim.

And Heimdall took Frigga and Healer Maija to her son.

When Frigga came to the door in the small humans' building, Frigga tore past her mortal guide and Thor straight to Loki's bedside.

“Loki!” she exclaimed, breathless, and swept the upper part of Loki's body into a careful hug. Loki hugged her back with his good arm. Drawing back, she asked, “Loki, why _here_? Why did you not come to the healing rooms?”

He looked at her, broken-hearted, yet as stubborn as ever. “Because I could not stay.”

Frigga startled back, staring at him. Of course he could _stay_ , her rooms were safe for him. And soon, they would arrange for others to help him, so he would be protected–

So he would never have a moment to himself, would never be entirely _safe_. Every day, he would face fear, would face the threat of attack. He could never have the freedom he was once allowed, because freedom meant vulnerability.

The words took hold in Frigga's mind, and as she realized the truth of them her heart filled with sorrow.

When she did not answer, Loki started saying in a rush, “Mother, you must know I do not wish this, but there is no other choice for me. I-I cannot continue as if I were a – a ghost flitting about the halls, receiving only pain if I dare appear–”

Frigga laid a hand on Loki's arm, quieting his stammered argument. “No, Loki, I understand,” she murmured, crestfallen. “I simply did not wish to accept it.”

She had thought, _foolishly_ , _selfishly_ , that Loki could continue to live on Asgard. At what should have been his _home_.

Yet if he stayed, it would not be living, but _surviving_. And Frigga did not wish that for her son.

She smoothed the hair back from his head, and smiled as tears fell, both his and hers. “You deserve more than what Asgard can give you now.” Again, she held him close, his body shaking almost as much as his voice had been, and she said, “You deserve to be _happy_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have noticed that this fic is now part of a series; when I first thought up the idea of this fic (long, loooong before I ever decided to write it), there was always a sequel attached, although its gone through many changes since the first time it popped into my head. I hope you plan on sticking with me long enough to read it.


	18. Day One: Resettlement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor, Frigga, and Loki must prepare for Loki's new life on Midgard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, I added in most of this chapter as filler. It's just a few loose ends to be tied up before we hit the epilogue, but I hope it's not too boring.

While Healer Maija tended to Loki's wounds, Thor, Mother, and the mortals left to give him some privacy. As they walked out the door, the woman in the white coat, Dr. Isaka, muttered, “Oh, thank God.” She joined Coulson just down the hall, and Thor heard her saying to Coulson, “Next time, don't call me when you need to patch up an alien god. I don't want to start an intergalactic war because I tried to give some royal an injection.”

Once the door was shut behind them, Mother gave Thor's shoulder a slight squeeze and a comforting look, and then she caught up to the two mortals.

“We must discuss Loki's situation,” she proclaimed, and with one last glance back at Thor, she and the mortals disappeared around the corner. Thor knew that even if talking to the mortals was not necessary, she would still have left him give him some privacy with Jane and Darcy. Both women remained just outside the door with Thor, looking at him with sympathy.

“Thor,” Jane started off tentatively, “I'm sorry about...well, _everything_ with your brother.”

“Although _you_ survived here, so he should be fine, right?” Darcy asked, her eyes hopeful.

Thor gave them a wan smile, unable to make it seem genuine. “Thank-you, my friends, for your condolences. They are appreciated.” He gave both of them a polite nod before taking Jane's hand. “Jane, would you speak with me?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jane said, glancing back at Darcy, but she waved them off.

“Don't worry, I'm fine on my own. Promise I won't get into trouble.”

“My thanks,” Thor said, though by the look on Jane's face she did not believe her friend. Still, Thor recaptured her attention as he asked, “Why did Coulson call you here, Jane? And where is Erik?”

Jane shrugged. “Erik's holding down the fort at home. Darcy only came because she was curious. And, well, for one thing, they told me Loki was asking after me. But mostly I think that in addition to their Einstein-Rosen Bridge expert, I'm also now their consultant on everything Asgard.” She gave a light, if crooked, smile. “Not that I mind, if it means I get to see more of you.”

Thor could not smile back. His heart was sinking. He liked Jane, and as a prince, he had been freer to do as he wished with regards to his friends and lovers. Now, however, there was much more to consider. He did not wish to give Jane false hope, nor obscure the truth for his own benefit. Especially if Jane could be with someone with fewer obligations attached.

Thor did not wish to ruin her short life because of the initial stirrings of passion.

Sure that his grief was clear on his face, grief for Loki, for Jane, and for himself and mother, he looked down into Jane's curious but soft brown eyes. “Jane, I did not arrive sooner because I was made king shortly after returning to Asgard.”

Jane blinked. “Oh,” she said, and Thor could see the light of understanding in her eyes, followed by regret. “I guess you can't date unless you're planning on making someone queen, then.” Her voice was resigned.

Thor hesitated. “I would be allowed mistresses, but I would not wish that life for you.” From Jane's grimace, she did not seem wish it either. Not only did Thor believe he wouldn't desire any lover but the spouse he took, but if Jane became a mistress, she would always come second and neither her nor any children she may have would have legal status. And that was not even considering the ridicule she would face as a mortal among Æsir, without marriage to protect her. Feeling nearly as resigned as Jane, Thor continued, “And to be my wife, I would have to court you officially, during which you would learn your duties as queen, then we would marry.”

Jane gave a wry smile. “Well, Queen Jane has a nice ring to it, but I'm guessing it's not all just fancy dresses and being pampered by servants. And I don't know how much time I'd be allowed to study your principles of magic, or if I have to deal with politics, or if I'd have to learn how to wield a sword or something. Not to mention I'd have to leave pretty much _everything_ behind.” She gestured wide, as if encompassing all of Midgard in the sweep of her hand. “And then there's the _life-span_ you guys have.” She frowned.

“If the people approved of you,” Thor began hesitantly, “there are rare magics in Asgard that can extend a mortal life.”

Jane drew back, her eyes wide. “Immortality...” She shook her head. “Thor, that's not something I can decide in one day. Or even a _year_. I can't – It's amazing, but I don't think I want to live forever. Not to mention, I don't even know the _effect_ thousands of years would have on the human brain. We aren't meant to live much past a hundred.”

As he heard the increasing doubt and dismay in Jane's voice, Thor knew she would not accept his offer. Though he expected the reluctance, it still hurt anew. “I am sorry for any harm I may have caused with my promise, or any early attempts to court.”

“Oh, no, you haven't done _any_ harm, Thor,” Jane said, the hesitancy fleeing from her voice. “I _do_ like you, and there's nothing that says a king can't be friends with us humans, right?” She smiled, the brightness starting to return to her expression.

Thor could not help returning the grin. “No, there is nothing of the sort. I would be honoured to remain your friend, then, Jane.”

“Same here,” she answered, and gave him a swift hug.

“Thank-you,” Thor murmured, drawing an arm around her slim shoulders. “And may I ask you...would you take care of my brother? For me?” Jane looked up at him, startled. Fearing she may not want to take another god into her home, Thor added, “He adapts quickly, but sometimes he needs help, even though he does not admit it.”

“Don't worry. If he wants to stay with us he can. And I'll be sure to ask about _everything_ he knows about magic. I mean, you did claim he was the best sorcerer in all of Asgard,” she added, eyes gleaming with excitement.

And Thor knew Loki would be in good company.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

After dismissing the mortal Healer, the man Thor had named as Coul's son led Frigga into a little room with two chairs sitting across from each other.

“Sorry it's not all that lavish, or anything,” Coul's son said, gesturing to one of the chairs. “We don't really entertain royalty all that often.”

“The room is suitable,” Frigga said, and took a seat.

Across the the table, the man sat down on the opposite chair, then took out a little pad of some ancient technology and pressed a few buttons on it. “So you wish to discuss – Loki, is it? – coming to live here.”

“Yes. What has he told you so far?” It was best to find out what the mortals already knew.

“He said he is the brother of Thor, and was attacked by his own people.” Coul's son hesitated. “He seemed a bit unsure on whether they were actually _his_ people or not.” He looked at Frigga questioningly, and she felt something in her heart ache, that Loki would not know if he had claim to the Æsir as his people. “He said he seeks refuge.”

Frigga nodded. So nothing of his pain or strife.

She regretted having to reveal more personal information. While she did not wish to speak of those grim events for second time that day, she also did not wish SHIELD to treat him ill because they did not know the full breadth of the situation. And she knew she could not trust Loki to be truthful about his past, or how much he had endured. He had barely spoken to her of it himself.

“How much do you know of the Jotnar, and Asgard's relationship with them?” she started off.

Coul's son's expression tightened. “Well, we know from the negotiations your two species held here, that Asgard doesn't seem to like them very much. I think the word used was _monsters_?” He did not seem fond of the word, and Frigga could reciprocate. Although she hadn't known _that_ word had been said. She only hoped Thor hadn't been the one to say it, and no one had gotten injured.

She nodded. “Yes, that is regretfully how some of our people see them. Our two realms have been at odds for a few thousand years, especially since the last war.” Then she took a deep, steadying breath, and said, “The reason Loki seeks a home here is because he is one of them.”

Coul's son's jaw went slack. After a few seconds, where Frigga could see his mind working, he said, “He's – uh, rather small, then. And not blue.”

“He is small because he is a runt, and his true father, King Laufey of Jotunheim, left him to die because of his size.” Now Coul's son's eyebrows shot up. Frigga pushed on regardless. There would be more pain to speak of before this was over. “And Loki is not blue because my late husband, King Odin of Asgard, found him, changed his skin so he would look Ás, and brought him home to raise as a son.”

“Ah.” Coul's son seemed frozen for a moment. At last he stirred, asking, “And people only started getting angry about that _now_?”

“Not quite.” Frigga sighed, then shifted in her chair so she could look Coul's son straight in the eye. It would be best to get this out in one go. “Loki himself only found out recently. And soon after that discovery, my husband died, and the glamour that hid Loki's skin fell with him. The people thought the real Loki had been stolen away and replaced with a Jotun imposter. And when I told them the truth, they locked me away, thinking my mind was disillusioned. And Loki–”

Now her breath caught in her throat, and tears stung at the edge of her eyes, but Frigga ignored both and pushed on. “Loki was tortured, by the best torturers Asgard has for Jotnar, and questioned, until Thor released him.

“And 'the people' have only been angry about it since we announced his heritage to the kingdom. We thought we could protect him, we thought we could do more.” Frigga looked away briefly, to compose herself, before returning to gaze at the nonplussed mortal. “But if he stays...his life will be at risk. And something like today may happen again.”

She leaned across the table, conveying her earnestness in her gaze. “So, you see why I wished to speak to you. And I am sorry for imposing such a burden on you, but I wish that Midgard would protect him from any on your planet that may do him harm.” She had not been to Midgard for a while, but she also knew humans were curious, and could sometimes treat those they were curious about with little care when trying to discover their secrets.

Coul's son nodded, and pressed another few buttons on his pad, though it seemed less that he was doing some necessary task, and more that was trying to gather his thoughts. “I understand, Ma'am, uh, your Majesty,” he said as he looked up at her, and Frigga decided not to correct him on her title. “We'll keep any interested parties away. But if he's going to stay here, he's going to need documents, and um, _human_ things.” The man began ticking off fingers. “Birth certificate, an SSN, ID, _money_ –”

“If it is currency you need for him to stay at peace, then Asgard can provide,” Frigga cut in.

“Alright.” The mortal tapped away on his device and without looking up asked, “How much can you give us?”

Frigga sat back in her chair, trying to remember her Midgardian history. “That depends. Does Midgard still deal in gold?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Healer Maija removed his tunic and undershirt to get to his knife wound, and from the little intake of breath, Loki knew she saw the way his trousers sagged and the marks of the man that still lingered. He knew he should have hid them earlier, but it was awkward to pull on his trousers one-handed, and he had been surrounded by people since he had arrived on Midgard.

Draping his tunic on a nearby chair, Healer Maija said, “You are aware I will have to report all your injuries for the trial once they catch the men that did this?”

Loki stared at the bland grey ceiling. “Yes,” he said quietly. He did not wish to think about what happened. He only wished it were over.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her pull a healing stone out of her bag and turn to him. “Do you wish me to report this?”

Loki chewed on the inside of his mouth. On all his tortures, on all his injuries, on all the hate he had encountered so far, he had kept silent. And whenever he thought of breaking that silence, his mind balked.

If no one had known, if _Thor_ and _Mother_ had not known, he did not wish to tell them. Of the way he had felt as the torturers had torn his body until he screamed and sobbed, or how they had broken and burnt him until his mind felt numb. Why tell them how _weak_ he had been? Why let anyone know how he had _hurt_?

Healer Maija did not wait for his answer as she crumbled the healing stone over his knife wound, repairing most of the internal damage. As she took a sealant and gently pressed it against his side, Loki asked at the ceiling, “Do you think the Jotnar are monsters?”

Her hands stopped. Then slowly she resumed pressing against his wound, the sealant numbing the remnants of pain. “I thought so, yes. When I was younger.”

Loki took a sharp breath in before she quickly added, “But not now.”

“Why not?” Loki still addressed the ceiling.

“I grew up and I learnt,” she said bluntly. “I travelled. I saw monstrosity in those I thought would be kind and kindness in those I thought would be monstrous.” She removed her hands and took something else from her bag. “I became a Healer, and it became my duty to heal anyone, no matter what they had done or what they may be.”

She grabbed the hand that had been crushed, while she pushed a potion to drink into his other hand. “And I was charged by the royal family to become your Healer. I figured out that whatever you were, you were not fully Æsir.”

Finally, Loki looked at Healer Maija. She glanced up, and when she caught his eye she smiled. “And I found out that it did not matter. Besides, from what I heard from Thor's Healers, you were much easier to look after.”

Loki felt a smile flit across his lips, but it was gone before she handed him another potion. “This next bit will hurt. The potion will stopper the pain, but it will also cloud your mind. If you cannot yet decide if you want all your injuries to be reported, I will ask again later.”

Unable to hold her gaze once more, Loki looked away.

Did he deserve for his attackers to pay for their crimes? _All_ their crimes?

( _Did monsters even_ deserve _justice? Or were the crimes done against the monsters justice enough_?)

Healer Maija seemed to think the attackers deserved to pay.

( _She seemed to think he was not a monster_.)

Although if true justice was to be served, then Loki should be dead for _his_ crimes. For killing Father, even though Loki had _not wanted_ do it, it had only been an _accident_ –

What the men had done had not been an accident.

They had _wanted_ to do it.

And was it not worse to remain silent? Was it not more _cowardly_?

( _Should not the realm see that even monsters could hurt_?)

Yet Loki had stayed silent so long, he did not know if he _could_ speak of how it hurt, or if his throat would seize up and he would choke on his words before any of them made it past his lips.

Loki could not talk.

But Healer Maija had no such fear of speaking, of telling Asgard of those crimes. If she spoke on his behalf, Loki wouldn't even hear words, sequestered a realm away.

If Loki could not talk, then he could at least permit others to talk for him.

“You need not wait,” he said softly, then turned to look at her. She stared back, expression worried. And hopeful.

He said, “The answer is yes.”

And he drank the potion before fear and doubt changed his mind.


	19. Epilogue: Homes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things change, even for for gods.

Loki's leg had finished being splinted when Thor returned.

It was time for him and Mother to say goodbye.

“It is not forever,” Loki reminded them. Although from the way his heart seemed to wrench and tear as he blinked back tears, staring up at the remnants of his family, it may well have been until Ragnarok.

“I will ensure you can return some day, brother,” Thor swore. “I will make Asgard safe for you once more.”

“And we _will_ visit you, when we can,” Mother promised, laying a comforting hand on Loki's shoulder. One last memory before they were forced apart.

Loki watched them leave through the door, wishing he was outside to see the light of the Bifrost take them home.

Healer Maija stayed a couple of extra days to help Loki regain his health, as she trusted the mortals' medicine even less than Loki. They stayed at the Lady Jane's abode, in a spare room in the back of the building. Loki had been surprised at her offer, but figured it was Thor's idea, and he preferred her home to the mortal organization's cramped rooms anyway.

Over the course of those two days, most of Loki's necessary possessions arrived by Bifrost. The mortal organization, which Jane had called 'SHIELD', ferried them over to Jane's house. One large box, one that Loki knew did not belong to him, contained two bags of gold from Asgard's coffers, accompanied by a note. After reading it, Loki wheeled his chair (a much more primitive device than the ones on Asgard) over to where Coulson was directing his people to unload Loki's belongings.

“Agent Coulson of SHIELD,” he announced, proffering the bags. “Payment from Asgard for services rendered, meals and housing provided, property damage–” and Loki had to keep from smiling as he imagined what Thor, four Aesir, and two Jotnar might have done, “–and weregild for any injuries your people may have suffered. As well as reimbursement for my relocation to your realm.” He made a respectful little bow from his chair. “Asgard thanks you for your generosity and troubles.”

Coulson took one look in the bags and his eyebrows shot up into his receded hairline. “I – r-right. Okay.” He closed the bags, staring at Loki as if at a loss, before his near-unflappable demeanour returned. “Thanks. From, uh, SHIELD to Asgard. I think that covers our budget for the next few decades. If it doesn't collapse the economy.”

Near the end of the second day, a letter arrived for Loki. In Thor's hurried script, some of it smudged and likely written not an hour earlier, it told him that the men who had attacked him were caught and awaiting an expedient trial for assault against a member of the royal family. One of the men, probably hoping for mercy from the crown, confessed they had been told to wait for Loki by one of Loki's torturers: the younger one, whom Loki had encountered in the hall not four days before. He too would face justice.

The rather vicious jolt of satisfaction Loki felt as he read those words was unsurprising, but the odd sense of relief that the torturer was going to be–

( _gone, locked away, wouldn't be able to hurt him anymore_ )

–imprisoned was troubling. It was not as if the man could reach ( _hurt_ ) Loki on Midgard.

Loki pushed the feeling from his head and thought of a reply.

When Healer Maija went back to Asgard the morning of the next day, she once again left Loki with a variety of potions and instructions. In return, Loki gave her two letters: one for Mother, and one for Thor. They were short, mostly about the efficiency of SHIELD and the kindness of the mortals for letting him stay. But at the end of the letters, he also included a suggestion for how to deal with the remaining three torturers, in case they wished to cause more trouble. They could be sent to separate outposts on the fringes of Asgard's outlying mountain range where they would be near-isolated for months at a time. It would be a distinctly unpleasant position.

Loki found he cared little for their discomfort.

As for now, he had his own isolation from home to deal with.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thor made his way past glowing white cells, some empty, some not, while a guard led him towards two cells near the end of the hall.

Inside the two cells were three men to each, along with three cots and a wash station. When Thor and the guard appeared in their line of sight, they stopped whatever they were doing. Thor halted just between the two cells, and he saw a gleam of nervousness in the prisoners' eyes.

Thor saw no reason to assuage that nervousness.

The guard banged his spear on the ground and called out each man's name. “Arvid Herik's son, Gunnar Halden's son, Melker Jens' son, Ivar Nils' son, Rolfe Magnar's son, and Vidar Hannes' son.” The guard flourished his hand at Thor. “King Thor will speak to you now,” he announced, then stood aside.

Gungnir held firm in one hand, Mjolnir's handle under the other, Thor took a moment to survey the six of them. None could hold the cold, angry gaze of their king, and Thor wondered if it was shame or fear that made them looked aside. If it was shame, Thor doubted it was for their actions, but rather for their new positions as criminals of the realm, not defenders of it.

Eventually, Thor spoke.

“You six have committed grievous crimes against my brother because he hails from another realm,” he said flatly. “You have displayed hatred and cruelty against the Jotnar, and acted violently on your urges. And I believe once you are let out, your hatred will remain unchanged.”

The men balked. Likely, they now believed Thor would execute them without trial.

But Thor was no tyrant.

After giving them a moment to sweat, Thor looked away, and began pacing; first to one end of a cell, then the other.

“The peace with Jotunheim holds. Our diplomats and councillors have begun negotiating how best to proceed with aiding Jotunheim, apart from our promise of trade. One of our agreements will be to repair the destruction I caused toward the Jotunheim palace when I last visited that realm.” And now Thor felt guilt flood him, though he did his best to conceal it.

He would have helped rebuild the palace, with his own two hands, but Helblindi had informed him his services would be better suited in the political world; although if Thor wished to put in a day's work, to demonstrate his willingness to help, then his aid would not be unappreciated.

“After that,” Thor continued once he was sure his guilt would not bleed into his voice, “we will help Jotunheim build and rebuild other structures that the realm has lost since the war. The work will be done with a combination of Jotnar, volunteers from Asgard, _and_ –”

Thor stopped pacing, once again at the centre of the two cells. “–With help from our prisoners, in exchange for a reduced sentence.”

The men looked surprised. Most looked relieved. But one, a former guard, let out a snort. When Thor turned his gaze on him, the guard spat, “What if you don't want to work with those _beasts_?”

“What if we would prefer to wait right here?” a warrior from the same cell added.

Slowly, Thor turned towards the men and walked up to their cell, his hand tightening on both Mjolnir and Gungnir. Fear flooded the resentment in the two men's eyes as Thor approached the energy barrier, and one of the men took a step back.

“You gravely injured my _brother_ , your _prince_ , without cause,” Thor growled, thunder in his voice, “and one of you attempted to _defile_ him.” The man who had attempted that deed had not stepped forward, so Thor had charged all but the torturer, who had not been present, with attempted rape. Thor thought it might be better not to know which among their number it was, for he was not sure if he could restrain himself from personally injuring the man. Such an act by Thor would not be taken well by the council or the nobles.

“You are lucky for this chance, and that your punishment is not worse,” he rumbled.

The guard looked as if he were about to speak again, but the third cellmate tugged on the guard's arm and quickly shook his head. Thor thought it wise that the man obeyed his fellow convict.

Giving the men one last look, he backed away until he could see in both cells again. “If you work without incident, you will spend a few less centuries in this cell. But if you make _trouble_ ,” Thor warned, “if you hinder the reconstruction, or insult the Jotnar, your new crimes will be added to the ones you are paying for now. And I will inform Prince Helblindi of Jotunheim and his brother, Prince Býleistr–” (of whom Thor had only learned about yesterday) “–of the harm _each_ of you inflicted on their little brother.”

As the men paled, even the two who had seemed angry, Thor said coldly, “Then they will decide on an appropriate punishment for when Æsir harm their royalty.”

Truthfully, Thor did not know how justice on Jotunheim was carried out. But judging from the prisoners' faces, neither did they.

Giving them a small nod, Thor said, “Your kingdom thanks you for your aid.”

Then he turned on his heel and left.

Not all the workers were technically going to be criminals or volunteers, though. Taking some of Loki's advice, Thor thought he could find three other pairs of hands willing to help: the other three of Loki's torturers. If Thor gave them the same speech he gave the prisoners, of course. Perhaps the three had only been working out of their duty to Asgard, but Thor did not believe they would be the only torturers in Asgard who knew the most about hurting Jotnar if they held any love towards the frost giants. So Thor would do his best to show them otherwise.

Because Thor wished Loki safe. Because Thor had acted out of his own hatred of the Jotnar only a few weeks prior, at the cost of many Jotun lives. And while he knew he could never be so cruel or cowardly to attack an unarmed opponent, let alone with four others, nor attempt such a vile act of defilement, Thor knew their crimes had been more out of malice towards Jotnar than towards Loki himself. It was a malice that had lain in Asgard for a long time, not only in the hearts of six men.

And Thor had not learned to accept the Jotnar from a cell.

Although that did not mean he would make things easy for those men, Thor thought with a grin. He left the prisons behind, returning to the well-lit golden halls once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

SHIELD offered to give Loki a place of his own, after Healer Maija left. However, Loki once again declined. He was not sure how much he trusted the organization, as he knew they were associated with this realm's government; one could not grow up a prince and not know that most “generous” offers contained an ulterior motive. Loki had no desire to find out what else SHIELD may have in mind for him.

He would not go with them only to be _used_.

(He would not risk being turned away if he was found wanting.)

And while it was true that Jane and her friends might be planning to use Loki, he thought it unlikely. They had befriended and aided Thor without any expectation of compensation, nor any proof that he was a prince or an Ás (although seeing as Thor made friends easily as he called down his lightning, that was not unexpected). Now they took on Loki too, without complaint or promises of gold for their troubles. For the burden they were putting on themselves in taking Loki in.

There was always a bothersome doubt that allowing Loki a room of his own, inviting him to meals, speaking to him of their own accord, was all only because of Thor. But Loki believed the three of them were not all good enough liars to be pretend to actually desire his presence for days on end. At some point, Loki had to believe this was not simply all for Thor.

(Though he could not go far as saying it was all for himself.)

And if Loki _did_ choose to leave, to make his own way in the world, he would be forced to hide who he was. _What_ he was, both Ás and Jotun.

Not that Loki particularly wanted to reveal his true skin _anyone_ (including himself), but at least among Jane and her friends there would be no need for such subterfuge. No fear of being discovered, or having to flee if he was found out. No need to run away from a home he had only just found.

Thor had changed here, in this little town in Midgard. And Thor believed Loki could change as well. Perhaps this was the best place for it.

It was certainly not the worst.

Even though the desert air was hot, it did not quite reach the temperatures of some of Asgard's summers, and the inside of Jane's building remained cool. And though the whole of the building was about as large as Loki's quarters, it did not seem crowded.

Then, there were the mortals themselves. They had all been hesitant in approaching him while Loki had moved in, staying out of SHIELD's way. And Loki's.

Loki supposed he could not blame them, as he was not certain how to approach them himself.

(Even if the they knew so little about the Jotnar. Even if they did not knew they should be afraid of the blue hidden under his false skin.)

Erik in particular had remained in background while Loki moved into his new quarters. The man had seemed awkward, as if not sure how to approach Loki. In fact, Loki thought at first that the mortal might be opposed to his presence. Wishing to keep the peace, and not wishing to be forced to leave for offending one of the mortals, Loki avoided the man in kind for the first few days.

He was also the one who, according to Thor, knew most about the rest of the nine realms. If anyone had reason to be wary of Loki because of his heritage, it was Erik.

The distance between the two had remain until one night a few days Healer Maija left, when Erik had approached Loki as he was trying to shelve a book in his new room's limited shelf space. After stumbling through greetings, which Loki had responded to politely and Erik suggested they share a drink in the town's pub.

“It's how I got to know your brother a bit more,” Erik said almost hesitantly, rubbing the back of his neck absentmindedly. “I know I haven't been the most welcoming, but I'm just a bit...uncertain is all.”

“I see,” Loki had said, putting the book carefully his new bed. Drinking would not be Loki's first choice of a friendly activity, but Loki could hardly tiptoe around one his hosts for the rest of his stay on Midgard. However long that may be.

Pushing the daunting thought aside before it could send his mind spiralling into darkness, he had replied, “Then I accept, though I am afraid your brew will do little to affect me. ”

Erik had given a light chuckle. “Oh, I'm sure there'll be something for you there.”

Loki's prediction had been correct.

“Norse gods!” Erik slurred into Loki's shoulder. “Gods. And _giants_!”

Loki had stiffened, but Erik only snorted before breaking into silent laughter. He took a gulp of his drink, then set it down next his two other empty glasses. “And in _America_. The American _desert_ , no less.”

“It is quite a distance from where the Æsir last we travelled to Midgard,” Loki agreed, downing his own small glass of clear liquid Erik had called vodka, thinking of the green fjords and wide sparkling ocean where Heimdall had normally set down the Bifrost. Loki then set his little glass beside the bottle of vodka, which was nearly drained by this point. And Loki was only just beginning to feel a tingle throughout his body.

“I'd say it is,” Erik said with a chuckle. “You must tell me about the tales we have passed down – how true they are. And stories! More stories of you and Thor and – and _everyone_!” Erik had waved his arms wide and nearly toppled over in his seat.

Loki had carried him back to his trailer, first supporting his weight until they were out of the pub. Then once he was sure there were no mortals around to watch, he had hoisted Erik over his shoulder. He was rather amused by the why Erik kept muttering, “Carried down the street by the _gods_.” and thought friendship with this mortal would be rather interesting.

Though personally Loki believed his spell to relieve hangovers did more to endear Erik to him than the night drinking.

Darcy's fascination with magic had more to do with its more practical and frivolous uses, not that Loki minded in the slightest. She had been the first to approach Loki, not longer after Healer Maija had left, while both Jane and Erik were in their own tiny mobile homes. Loki was still in the wheeled chair, staring at the grain of the kitchen's table and trying not to think about Asgard (and failing miserably) when Darcy had plopped down beside him.

“So if you're magical, can you, like, open portals into space, like Jane wants you to do?” She had asked, eyes wide and inquisitive, chewing her bottom lip slightly.

Loki, startled out his stupor, had jerked his head in a nod. It was exactly not the first question he had been expecting. “Yes, but not easily, and not by myself.” Certainly not ones exactly like the Bifrost.

“How about turning this cup pink? Can you do that?” She pushed her empty coffee mug towards him. “Or is that too _childish_ for a great master of magic?” The last part was said with playful lilt, a wide smile on her face.

Loki grinned back at her. “Is that what Thor told you about me? Not childish enough?” As if Thor had not complained how juvenile some of Loki's pranks could be. He gave a light snort, and a thought of a better idea than changing the colour of the mug. “Thor is certainly a better liar than I had thought.” Loki waved his hand at the cup, though the gesture really wasn't necessary for the magic he was preforming.

Darcy squinted at the mug, which remained white, stained with the brown leavings of coffee. “What did you do? I don't see–”

“You might want to look up at your hair, then.”

Darcy's hand shot to her head, then she grabbed a handful of her now bright pink hair and held in front of her face. She blinked, then her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped in what – Loki thought with dismay – was horror.

“Oh. My. _God_. Is this _real_?” she demanded, as she shoved a lock towards Loki.

“No, don't worry,” Loki said quickly, readying a spell to change it back, hoping he had not upset her with the magic. It would be just like him to offend the mortals with a stupid trick only hours after being left on his own. “It is only a simple illusion–”

“ _Can_ it be real?” She interrupted, and was staring at the pink almost hungrily. “And how about blue this time – no _red_. Let's go with red.”

After a moment, when Loki's dismay began turning to something akin to Darcy's excitement, he had obliged. And he had obliged the next few requests for colours as well. Then he and Darcy relocated to the bathing room – Darcy helping with his wheeled chair – where they could both look in the mirror.

“You are amazing,” she said carelessly, flipping her now sparkling white hair.

Loki had stared, wondering if she knew what she had just said. Perhaps he had misheard.

Though before Loki could ask she had whirled on him. “Now let's do yours.”

Loki found himself having fun as his hair joined Darcy's in turning from orange to blue to brilliant gold. More fun than he remembered having since...a while ago.

It was certainly better than staring morosely at a table.

And then there was Jane, who was less concerned about the pranks his magic could pull, than how his magic worked, and the extent of what exactly he could do. Jane, who was unquenchable in her curiosity about the Bifrost, and even objects from his possessions which were entirely commonplace on Asgard yet would send her into excited ramblings (and in some of those moments, she oddly reminded Loki of himself, whenever he had delved into a new study of unknown magics).

It was certainly reminiscent of the times Loki had bounded into Thor's room as a child after learning a new spell, headless of what Thor might be doing at the time, when Loki woke to the sound of a high-pitched squeal the day after Healer Maija had left. He had twisting his blankets, calling a knife to hand, only to see Jane standing halfway between the entrance to Loki's room and the bed. One of Loki's buoyant vials was floating just above her cupped hands and she was looking at it as if it held the secrets of the universe. Then she seemed to realized the sound she had just made and blushed, eyes flicking to Loki.

“Sorry, I was supposed to wake you for breakfast–” she said in rush, before gesturing to the object just above her hands. “But is this is a spell, or is part of the glass – or whatever it's made of?”

“I – it's mostly spells. There are runes inscribed on the glass, but the way the glass is made also allows for its buoyancy.” Loki said as he banished the knife. He was thankful for his modest sleepwear as he sat up in bed, the movement somewhat stiff since his leg was not quite healed. “It is used for mixing certain potions which require specific conditions to percolate.”

“This is _incredible_.” She let go of the vial and watched as it floated upward, then hovered at point a few inches above her head. “How does it work? Does everyone have one? How does it overcome the–” Abruptly, her head shot up and she looked at Loki as he propped pillows behind his back and flushed again. “Sorry, I should let you dress first.”

Loki shook his head, thinking with amusement that _he_ had never been quite so embarrassed when bursting in on Thor, even when Thor had been wearing much less.

“It is fine,” he said, switching his sleepwear for the clothes SHIELD had been kind enough to provide with a simple spell. It was not his preferred method to dress, but it was quick, and Jane's cheeks were red enough already.

Jane stared. “Once we're done with this, you're going to have to tell me how you did _that_.”

They did not make it to breakfast, and lunch was delayed until the afternoon.

Loki did not mind. In fact, he enjoyed answering Jane's questions as she tried to understand Asgard's principles of magic in ways her science could qualify it. Loki even began reading her texts on mathematics and physics in an attempt to bridge the gap between their understandings. Then he scribbled all over them to correct their woefully archaic outlook on the structures of the universe.

Although when Jane had expressed her displeasure, Loki was quick to turn his scribblings invisible. Which solicited another round of questions. And a desire to see his scribbled notes, to see if she could make sense of them.

When the mood was more casual, she and Erik would ask about Thor, and more hesitantly, questions about his family. Loki would avoid the painful ones, answer the more amusing ones, and would take care to give the best stories about Thor, ones that would send the whole house into fits of laughter.

The little house and the three mortals were...comfortable, in an odd sort of way. There were times, when he was debating with Jane or Erik about some equation or principle from one of their texts, or when Darcy was explaining to him the purpose of a website, when Loki could _forget_.

When he could forget he was a Jotun. When he could forget he was not Thor's brother, nor his parents' son. He could forget he was hated in the realm he had called home. He could forget the pain he had gone through in the deepest dungeons of Asgard. He could forget the pain ( _and deaths_ ) he had caused.

He could forget, while not surrounded by Asgard's golden halls, forced to hide in its shadows.

He could forget, for a moment.

And right now, sharing an evening meal with three unlikely but kind and curious mortals, who had opened to him hearth and home, that was enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

At a desk in a room that only a hundred or so people on the earth knew existed, Director Fury was seated.

His next decision was not one he exactly looked forward to, and could change the face of humanity, if he succeeded. And success was not a guarantee.

But Fury had not risen to this job for staying safely behind the lines, or for thinking inside the box. Putting down the file codenamed Pegasus, he took his phone out of his pocket and dialled a number very familiar to him.

“Agent Coulson,” he said when the other end picked up, “you have new orders.” Fury could only hope they were the right ones. “Bring Dr. Selvig to the base.”

Then, glad he could make one decision that did not put anyone's life at risk, Fury said, “And afterwards you will be reassigned to the Arctic dig project.”

Fury waited through Coulson's breathless “Thank-you, sir.” While some agents thought Coulson should have out-grown his hero-worship by now, Fury only found it encouraging; if one had to have a role model, then Captain America was not exactly the worst choice one could make.

Returning to the other project in mind, Fury asked, “And what about the alien?”

“He is staying with Doctors Foster and Selvig, as well as their intern. He doesn't seem to be a threat, and I believe he may be growing attached to them, as Prince Thor had. So far, he's shown that he much stronger than a normal human, and has displayed something that looks like, er, magic.”

Fury sat back, thinking over that word. _Magic_. Unpredictable. Unknown, outside of a few eccentric circles. And useful.

“Good,” was all he said after a moment.

He took out another folder, one he had been working on for a long time.

One that was very exclusive, and for the Earth's sake, one he hoped he would never need.

He knew he was taking another risk, especially with what they knew of the alien's rather eventful history. But then again, most of the names in that folder belonged to risky people.

“Put him on the list,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, I guess that's it. Thank-you, all of you, for reading and enjoying this story. You have made writing and posting this a pleasure, and all your comments brightened my day a little. Also, thanks to my beta 1wngdngl for all her input; this story wouldn't be quite the same without her.
> 
> About the sequel: I will probably start posing in late June or sometime in July, depending on how busy I am and how many snags I hit.
> 
> Again, thank-you, and I hope you enjoyed this fic <3


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